


The Girl That Shouldn't Be: Book One

by skarletfyre



Series: The Girl That Shouldn't Be [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Siblings, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4 Privet Drive, were a pair of exceptionally normal, ordinary people. Mr. Dursley was the director a manufacturing company, and Mrs. Dursley was a housewife, who maintained the home and took care of the couple’s young son, Dudley. They lived in an ordinary two-story home, with an ordinary green and well-trimmed lawn, with Mr. Dursley’s ordinary, reasonably expensive car resting in the driveway, waiting for him to drive it to work.The Dursleys were so ordinary, so completely normal, that the very notion of any abnormalcy in their lives would be completely absurd. After all, how could such regular people have anything to hide? No one would ever suspect them of keeping even a single strange, un-ordinary secret - let alone that they might be keepingtwo."* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *This is a canon-compliant retelling of the Harry Potter story, told from the perspective of character that doesn't exist. Violet Potter is Harry's twin sister. This is, as faithfully as I could make it, the story of what would happen if she were there.





	1. The Vanishing Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I know disclaimers have sort of gone out of fashion lately but for this work I feel like its important to have one. I'll get to that in a moment though, because first I want to give a short explanation of what this fanfic is about.
> 
> The idea of Harry having a twin sister is something that's stuck with me since I was about 15 years old. I'm almost 23 now, and in all that time I've had this story living in my head that I would come back to and tweak and revisit, but never actually go to the effort of writing or down or trying to share it with anyone because I was too embarrassed. I thought the idea was silly and cringey, and that no one but me would care about the Harry Potter OC I thought up in high school and haven't been able to let go of all these years.
> 
> Recently, during one of those late night, sleepy, vulnerable conversations I mentioned this idea for retelling the Harry Potter books to a friend, who actually seemed really interested. They encouraged me to start writing, which I did, and that's how we ended up here.
> 
> The idea of Violet Potter has been in my head for long, and with so many different names and variations, and I honestly thought that she would just stay there forever because it was crazy and silly and unrealistic to try and tell her whole story, and it didn't feel like doing her justice to only write a part of it. But I want to try now. I want to put her out there and share her and her experiences, and see if other people might find her as interesting as I do.
> 
> But this is where we get to the complicated part, because this is not just a fanfiction set in an established world: this is a retelling of a whole series, and much of the content and the setting is exactly the same. I have borrowed heavily from the source material to write this, and I do not want it to come across like I'm taking this work for my own. I am very respectful of J.K. Rowling and the wonderful world she's created.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4 Privet Drive, were a pair of exceptionally normal, ordinary people. Mr. Dursley was the director a manufacturing company, and Mrs. Dursley was a housewife, who maintained the home and took care of the couple’s young son, Dudley. They lived in an ordinary two-story home, with an ordinary green and well-trimmed lawn, with Mr. Dursley’s ordinary, reasonably expensive car resting in the driveway, waiting for him to drive it to work.

The Dursleys were so ordinary, so completely normal, that the very notion of any abnormalcy in their lives would be completely absurd. After all, how could such regular people have anything to hide? No one would ever suspect them of keeping even a single strange, un-ordinary secret - let alone that they might be keeping _two._

Tucked up together, in the small cupboard under the stairs, two young children were fast asleep. This was not an unusual place for them to be sleeping, as it was the only bedroom they had ever known. Laying end to end, with their bare feet in each other’s faces, Harry and Violet Potter were enjoying their last, fleeting moments of rest, which was interrupted by a sharp, sudden rapping on their cupboard door.

“Up! Get up! Now!”

Harry was the first to sit up. He pushed his sister’s feet away from his cheek and pulled the knotted light cord that dangled overhead. Violet, who slept closest to the cupboard wall, pushed herself onto her elbows and groaned. She tried to shake off the lingering thoughts of the dream she’d been having, about a flying motorcycle and a very large, very hairy crying man. The dreams she had weren’t usually so vivid, or so strange. She would have liked to tell her brother about it, if there’d been time to sit and talk. Unfortunately, there was not.

Aunt Petunia was back outside the door.

“Are you up yet?” she demanded, her shrill voice cutting through the repeated knocking on the door.

“Nearly,” Harry said, and Violet tried to say through her yawn.

“Well get a move on! I want one of you to make coffee and the other to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect for Duddy’s special day.”

Dudley’s birthday, of course. The Dursleys had been planning it for weeks, sneaking presents into the house after Dudley had gone to bed and having the twins stay up late to get all the wrapping done. That way, they got a good look at all the toys and gadgets that they would never have, and would never even be allowed to play with.

No parties had ever been thrown to celebrate Harry and Violet being born. None that they could remember, anyway, whereas every year of their cousin Dudley’s life was started with more and more enthusiasm and gusto. It appeared as though his eleventh birthday was going to be the most extravagant yet.

When the two children finished dressing and putting their shared bed back in order, they crawled out of their cramped sleeping cupboard and went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost completely hidden beneath all of Dudley’s presents. Violet didn’t have to guess what any of them were - she had spent the night wrapping the new computer, the second television, and the new racing bike. Neither of the twins were sure what Dudley wanted a racing bike for in the first place. He was a very fat boy who hated exercise of all kinds, with the exception of punching things. _Things_ , of course, meaning the twins. Dudley’s favourite past time was punching Harry, though he couldn’t often catch him. Harry didn’t look it, but he was very fast. Violet was just as scrawny as her brother, and could run just as fast, but she hadn’t needed to run from Dudley in years. He still picked on her, of course, but the punching stopped once he learned that she wasn’t afraid to punch back, and _hard._

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard and eating only whatever scraps were left for them, but the twins had always been small and skinny for their age. Harry looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. His shirts swallowed him in draped fabric, and his jeans were so large about the waist that he had to belt them.

Violet got most of her clothes from Aunt Petunia when they became stained or torn, but she also had a few items that had been bought just for her when nothing else fit — Aunt Petunia’s legs were too long for her shirts and trousers to fit on Violet without significant hemming, and Aunt Petunia simply didn’t have the time or the inclination to take them all in.

The twins made for a rather mismatched pair whenever they were allowed to join the family on outings. A pair of thin, dark figures lagging behind and keeping out of the way, sticking close to one another and silently doing what they’re told. Vernon and Petunia and Dudley Dursley all fit in together, and Dudley was the perfect mash up of his parents so as to leave no doubt that yes, this child belonged with them. His meaty frame and small, dark eyes were the very picture of his father, and his straw-blonde hair and weak chin endeared him to his mother.

Violet and her brother couldn’t have stood out more if they tried.

The twins had thin faces, thin bodies, and skinny arms and legs. Their knees and elbows were knobbly, and teacher’s regularly tutted at them when it was time for a weigh-in.

Their black hair didn’t fit in with the family, either. Harry’s was cut short, but stuck up at odd angles no matter how hard anyone tried to flatten it down. Violet’s hair hung just above her shoulders, and had the unfortunate tendency of tangling up into a rat’s nest whenever it wasn’t tied back, and so it was kept in a short, thick braid down the back of her head. Every other night after baths, Aunt Petunia would sit her down on a hard wooden stool and brush the whole mess out. The brush would yank and pull and scratch at her scalp until Violet was nearly in tears, but her aunt wouldn’t stop until her hair was straight and shiny. Then, before it could knot itself back up again, she would weave it into a very tight braid and tie it with a rubber band and warn Violet not to touch it. Violet, invariably, would disobey the next day, and the whole process had to be started over again.

Despite their lack of resemblance to the rest of their family, there could be no doubt whatsoever that the twins were, in fact, twins. Their features were strikingly similar to one another, and they shared the same pair of bright green eyes. As toddlers they were nearly impossible to differentiate — nearly. Violet didn’t need glasses the way her brother did, but when they were younger it was easily for Harry to hand over his frames while the pair were changing clothes, and she could pass as him for whole days at a time.

The scar on Harry’s forehead was the one glaring, unavoidable feature that set him apart from his sister. It was the one thing that they could never swap, never letting them get away with disguising as each other. A thin, jagged line in the shape of a lightning bolt that Harry had and Violet did not. It had been there for as long as they could remember, though neither had any memory of the incident that caused it.

“In the car crash when your parents died,” Aunt Petunia said, once, on the single occasion that Harry had tried to bring it up. “And don’t ask questions.”

 _Don’t ask questions_ — that was the first rule for a quiet life with Dursleys.

There were other rules, of course. _Don’t talk out of turn_ — which really meant don’t talk, ever. _Keep out of the way_ — keep out of sight, more like.

Which was exactly what Violet was trying to do at the stove, manning the bacon when Uncle Vernon came into the kitchen and sat down to read his morning paper.

“Comb your hair!” he barked at Harry, by way of greeting. Violet waited, but no acknowledgment of her presence was made. She relaxed.

Dudley waddled into the room a few minutes later, just as the food was being plated. The twins struggled to fit the food onto the table with all the presents, which Dudley was eagerly counting out.

“Thirty-four... thirty-five... thirty-six... thirty... thirty-six?” He looked up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.”

“Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see? It’s under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.”

“Okay, thirty-seven,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Dudley often went red before he threw a tantrum and began screaming, hitting, and kicking whatever was in reach. The twins began wolfing down their eggs and toast as fast as possible, just in case Dudley turned the table over again.

Aunt Petunia obviously sensed danger, too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you _two_ presents while were out today. How’s that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?”

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty...thirty...”

“Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia.

“Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.”

Harry and Violet finished off their plates as Dudley tore into the neat wrapping paper that they’d spent all night on, barely pausing to even look at each gift before reaching for the next one. In the time it took Aunt Petunia to go and answer the phone, Dudley had already opened his racing bike, a new video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new video games, and a DVD player. He was shredding the paper off a new gold wrist watch when Aunt Petunia returned, looking both angry and worried.

“Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take them.” She jerked her head in the direction of the twins.

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, but Violet and Harry shared a look of pure glee. Mrs. Figg was the mad old lady that their aunt and uncle dumped them on every time they made an outing; her house smelled of cabbage and cat litter, and she didn’t even own a TV. The twins hated the place, and weren’t all that fond of Mrs. Figg herself. Getting to tag along with the Dursleys would be a rare and wonderful treat.

“They’ll have to take us, won’t they?” Violet murmured to her brother while the Dursleys argued over what to do with them. “They won’t leave us here.”

“Not alone, but they might call Aunt Marge over.”

They both shrank at the mere thought of being under the ‘care’ of their Aunt Marge. _Anything_ would be better than that.

“I suppose we could leave them in the car...” said Aunt Petunia, giving the pair of them a sidelong look. Harry and Violet immediately stopped talking. Dudley began to cry.

The loud wailing coming from his mouth wasn’t real crying at all, but Dudley knew that if he screwed up his face and hollered loud enough he could get whatever he wanted from his mother. And what he wanted now, as he bleated between false sobs, was for Harry and Violet to be as far away from his birthday activities as possible. Aunt Petunia practically fell on top of her son to comfort him, and only the twins could see the nasty grin their cousin shot them through her arms.

They were spared any more theatrics by the ringing of the doorbell and the arrival of Dudley’s friend from school, Piers. He was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat, and he was usually the one holding people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Violet and Harry, who couldn’t believe their luck, were crammed into the back of the Dursley’s car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in their lives. Their aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they left Uncle Vernon had taken the pair of them aside.

“I’m warning you,” he said, and Violet shrank away as he put his purple face right up close to each of theirs in turn. “I’m warning you both now — any funny business, any at all, and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.”

“We’re not going to do anything,” Harry said, and Violet was grateful to feel her brother grasping for her hand. There was little else he could do with Uncle Vernon bearing down on them like this, but the small comfort was enough.

But Uncle Vernon only gave them another nasty glare and a warning shake of his fat, clenched fist. He clearly didn’t believe them. No one ever did.

Strange things seemed to happen around the Potter twins. And ever since they were little, no matter how hard they tried, they’d never been able to convince the Dursleys that they didn’t _make_ them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left “to hide that horrible scar.” Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, and even in her sympathy for him Violet couldn’t suppress a giggle. That night, however, Harry broke down with worry about the next day at school and what the other children would say and do to him. Violet apologized over and over for laughing, and hugged her brother until he eventually passed into an uneasy sleep. Imagine their surprise in the morning, when they woke up to find Harry’s hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia sheared it off.

He’d been given a week in the cupboard for that, even though he tried to explain that he _couldn’t_ explain how it had grown back so quickly. Violet was allowed out to do chores and cook meals, and only got to see and speak to her brother when they were told to sleep.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force Violet into a revolting old sweater (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fit a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Violet. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Violet wasn’t punished.

Violet generally had an easier time avoiding reprimand, from Aunt Petunia at least, and it was a fact both twins were well aware of. Sometimes it was a sore spot between them, but it just as often it had been used to their advantage. If she stood up and took the blame for something they were both in trouble for, then there was a chance Aunt Petunia would let the matter go with little more than a scowl.

This tactic had never worked on Uncle Vernon. Both twins would scatter at the sound of their uncle’s booming voice, trying to put themselves as far out of arm’s reach as possible. It was when Harry would make a wall out of himself, between Uncle Vernon and his sister, that made them even.

On the other hand, however, there were plenty of times that they couldn’t get out of being punished no matter what they did, and both of them would face the exact same wrath. They’d once gotten into terrible trouble for being caught on the roof of the school kitchens. No one could explain it, least of all the twins themselves. One minute they were running from Dudley and his gang, and the next they were on the chimney, still holding hands and looking down in befuddlement at the ground below.

The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from the school’s headmistress telling them the twins had been climbing school buildings, but all they’d tried to do — as they shouted at Uncle Vernon from behind the locked door of their cupboard — was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. They supposed the wind must have caught them mid-jump. It was the only rationale they could come up with between them.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being stuck with Dudley and Piers to be anywhere besides school, the cupboard, or Mrs. Figg’s cabbage smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Violet, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

“...roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle,” said Harry, and Violet’s gaze snapped away from the window to stare at him.

“Was it flying?” she asked.

“Yes,” Harry replied, looking just as startled as she felt.

They both lurched against their seatbelts as Uncle Vernon slammed on the brakes, nearly hitting the car in front. He turned around in his seat and yelled at them, his face like a giant beet with a moustache: “MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

“I know they don’t,” Harry said bravely. “It was only a dream.”

Uncle Vernon gave one last growl before turning back around and putting his foot back on the gas. Violet watched Harry out of the corner of her eye, noting the stubborn set of his jaw and the crinkle at his brow. He shouldn’t have spoken up. But she was glad he did. Carefully, so that Piers and Dudley couldn’t see, she grabbed her brother’s hand and squeezed, once.

“I had the same dream,” Violet murmured, and Harry turned to look at her. She squeezed his hand again, and this time he squeezed back. _It’s going to be okay._

They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive.

 

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked the twins what they wanted before they could be hurried away, they were each given an ice pop. They were sour, but they weren’t bad.

The twins had the best morning they’d had in a long time. They were careful to walk a little ways apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get a little bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn’t fall back on their favourite hobby of hitting them. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and the Harry and Violet were allowed to finish the first.

The twins felt, afterward, that they should have known it all too good to last.

The reptile house was their first stop after lunch. It was a long, low building, cool and dark on the inside, with little lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all manner of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of stone and wood. Violet found them all fascinating, but couldn’t stay and look at each exhibit as long as she would have liked. Dudley and Piers only wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickest found the largest snake in the whole exhibit. It was a beautiful brown serpent, so long it could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a trash can — or so Piers seemed to think, but he didn’t know much about anything, let alone snakes.

At the moment, however, the snake didn’t much look like it was up for crushing anything, let alone a whole car. In fact, it was fast asleep.

“Make it move,” Dudley whined to his father, pressing his nose against the glass of the enclosure. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake didn’t budge.

“Do it again,” Dudley ordered. Again, Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

“This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away, Piers and his parents in tow.

With the others moving on, the twins took their turn moving in front of the glass, looking in at the sleeping snake.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if _it_ had died of boredom,” muttered Violet, leaning down the read the information plaque in front of the display. “It’s all alone in there. No company ‘cept for stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb you all day long.”

“Sounds a bit like home to me,” Harry said wryly.

Suddenly, the snake opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly it raised its head until its eyes were level with level with Harry’s though the glass.

_It winked._

Violet’s mouth fell open in shock. She looked between her brother and the snake, both of them staring into each other’s eyes. To her surprise, Harry winked back.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It was a look that said plainly:

_I get that all the time._

Harry made a noise from between his teeth — almost a soft whistle, though Violet had never heard him make such a noise before. Behind the glass, the snake bobbed its head vigorously, as though it were nodding.

“What’s happening?” Violet whispered, mostly to herself. Harry was making the whistling noise again and not paying attention to her, and the snake seemed to be gesturing with its tail to the sign next to the glass. _Boa Constrictor, Brazil. Bred in captivity._

When Harry put his hand to the glass and made the hissing sound again, Violet felt the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“You’re talking to it, aren’t you?” she asked her brother, taking a step closer and placing her hand on the cool glass as well. “Is it talking back? Can you hear it?”

Harry looked at her then, startled, as if he’d only just realized what he was doing. He dropped his hand from the glass and stepped away, mouth working like a fish but no words coming out to explain what was going on. When he finally started to speak, he was drowned out by a deafening shout from behind them.

“DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT’S DOING!”

The next thing she knew, Violet was being was shoved aside as Dudley came waddling over as fast as he could. Caught by surprise, she fell hard on to the rough concrete floor, skinning her hands as she caught herself. She yelped in pain, glaring hatefully up at Dudley. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened, not even Harry or Violet herself — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, and the next there was a great splash as Dudley went tumbling forward into the enclosure and landed right into the water pool. Piers leapt back with a yowl of horror.

Violet sat up and gasped. The glass in front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

Violet was still in shock when Harry hauled  her to her feet, standing there and staring stupidly as Dudley flailed and cried in the shallow water.

Over it all, she nearly missed the same strange, low whistling noise that she’d heard minutes before, only this time it wasn’t coming from her brother.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

“But the glass,” he kept saying, “where did the glass go?”

Violet had no answer for this, and neither did anybody else. The zookeeper made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. Their tales become wilder and wilder, starting with the snake merely staring at them and ending with it lunging toward them through the glass and trying to drag Dudley to the bottom of the pool and drown him. By the time they reached the car, Dudley was telling them about how it had nearly bitten his leg off. But worst of all, for the twins at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, “Harry and Violet were talking to it, weren’t you?”

Uncle Vernon at least had the sense to wait until Piers was safely out of the house before starting in on them. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He dragged the pair of them to their cupboard kicking and screaming, a fistful of their hair in each hand, and shoved them inside before slamming the door.

 

Much later, Violet lay in the dark cupboard beside her brother and wished that one of them had a watch. They didn’t know what time it was, and they had no way of telling if the Dursleys had gone to sleep yet. Until they had, neither of them could risk sneaking out of the kitchen for some food.

The twins had lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years. Ten miserable years, as long as they could remember, ever since they’d been babies and their parents died in that car crash. They couldn’t remember being in the car when their parents had died. Sometimes, when they were left alone in the cupboard for long stretches together, they would strain their memories and both come up with the same vision: a blinding flash of green light and, at least for Harry, a burning pain in his forehead. This, they supposed, was the crash, though neither of them could imagine where all the green light came from. And they couldn’t remember their parents at all, no matter how many times they talked it over together. Their aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course they were forbidden to ask questions. There were not photographs of them in the house, just as there were no photographs of the twins themselves.

When they had been younger, Harry and Violet had fantasized and made up futures of some unknown relative coming to take them away, but it had never happened: the Dursleys were their only family. Yet sometimes they thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know them. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a purple top hat had bowed to them once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking them furiously if they knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them all out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking women dressed in all green had waved merrily at them once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually come up and shaken Violet and Harry’s hands in the street the other day, and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about these people, as the twins discussed between themselves later on, was that they seemed to vanish the second either of them tried to get a closer look.

At school, the twins had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated those odd Potter kids with their ill-fitting clothes and unkempt hair, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang.

They had no one, apart from each other.

“I think I did something to the glass,” Violet whispered, as quietly as she possibly could. They had been silent for hours, not even daring to speak for fear of Uncle Vernon waiting outside to leap in and punish them for it.

Harry lifted his head to look at her. His skinny legs were stretched across her skinny lap, while Violet sat with her back to the wall. There wasn’t much room in the cupboard under the stairs. Barely enough for one person, let alone two.

“I think I _was_ talking to the snake,” replied Harry just as softly.

They let another long stretch of silence go between them, allowing the gravity of their words to sink in. The things they were talking about weren’t _possible,_ yet they must have happened, or else it was all some strange and terrible coincidence that had nothing to do with them at all.

Not that it mattered, now. The Dursleys were so angry with them that they wouldn’t listen to a single word the twins had to say. And Uncle Vernon’s threats from that morning, about being locked in the cupboard until Christmas, were ringing with devastating truth in Violet’s mind.

“They’ll let us out for school, at least, won’t they?”

Violet chewed on her lip and waited for some sort of reassurance from her brother, but when none came she looked over in his direction. Harry’s eyes were closed behind his glasses and his mouth was hanging slightly open, and that meant that he had fallen asleep. She sighed, and reached out to gently pluck the glasses from his nose and set them aside. Harry jostled slightly when she pushed his legs out of her lap, but did not wake, for which Violet was grateful.

Ignoring the pangs in her empty belly and pushing aside the distressing thoughts of the day as best she could, Violet joined her twin in laying down and slipping into a fitful, uneasy sleep.


	2. The Letters from No One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know disclaimers have sort of gone out of fashion lately but for this work I feel like its important to have one. I'll get to that in a moment though, because first I want to give a short explanation of what this fanfic is about.
> 
> The idea of Harry having a twin sister is something that's stuck with me since I was about 15 years old. I'm almost 23 now, and in all that time I've had this story living in my head that I would come back to and tweak and revisit, but never actually go to the effort of writing or down or trying to share it with anyone because I was too embarrassed. I thought the idea was silly and cringey, and that no one but me would care about the Harry Potter OC I thought up in high school and haven't been able to let go of all these years.
> 
> Recently, during one of those late night, sleepy, vulnerable conversations I mentioned this idea for retelling the Harry Potter books to a friend, who actually seemed really interested. They encouraged me to start writing, which I did, and that's how we ended up here.
> 
> The idea of Violet Potter has been in my head for long, and with so many different names and variations, and I honestly thought that she would just stay there forever because it was crazy and silly and unrealistic to try and tell her whole story, and it didn't feel like doing her justice to only write a part of it. But I want to try now. I want to put her out there and share her and her experiences, and see if other people might find her as interesting as I do.
> 
> But this is where we get to the complicated part, because this is not just a fanfiction set in an established world: this is a retelling of a whole series, and much of the content and the setting is exactly the same. I have borrowed heavily from the source material to write this, and I do not want it to come across like I'm taking this work for my own. I am very respectful of J.K. Rowling and the wonderful world she's created.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

The escape of the Brazilian Boa Constrictor led to the twins’ longest ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard for anything besides going to school, the summer holidays were just starting. It was the heat that caused Aunt Petunia to finally relent and release them, if only so that they could spend the day weeding the garden under the hot sun. The tree in the next-door neighbor’s backyard offered some shade, and they even had an excuse to use the garden hose. Spraying the cold water at one another was the most fun they’d had in weeks; it was the  _ only _ fun they’d had in weeks.

Although both Violet and Harry were glad that school was over, there was little escape to be had from the likes of Dudley’s gang, who seemed to have taken up residence at the Dursleys house most days. They showed up early in the mornings and didn’t leave until the evening news came on, and spent all day doing nothing but laughing at Dudley’s stupid jokes and trying to catch the twins. Potter Hunting was a popular sport among the gang. Violet and her brother spent as much time away from the house as possible whenever the boys were around.

They wandered the neighborhood and haunted the small, local park. None of the other children paid them any mind, at best, and outright avoided them at worst. It meant that the two of them had just a little bit of time to themselves, time enough to think about the end of the holidays and the bright ray of hope that was school without Dudley.

When September came they would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their lives, their cousin wouldn’t be with them. Dudley had been accepted into Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Harry and Violet on the other hand, were going to Stonewall High, the local public school.

“Do you think people will still know about us there?” Harry asked her one afternoon, while the pair of them sat idle on the abandoned swings.

“Know what about us?”

“Y’know, everything that Dudley calls us. Freaks. Weirdos. Potters.”

“We’re  _ not _ weirdos,” Violet said adamantly, kicking at the dry dirt under her feet. “And I don’t care what Dudley calls us. He won’t be there any more.”

“Maybe we’ll get hit less. At school, anyways.”

“Maybe the names will go away, too.”

“Do you want to try making friends again, when school starts? Maybe people will actually talk to us for a change.”

Violet gripped the chains of her swing tighter, leaning back to start building up a good momentum. The little bit of wind felt good. It made her want to untie her hair and feel it rushing past her face and ears as she swung higher and higher, if she didn’t know Aunt Petunia would be furious with her for it.

“I don’t care about friends,” she said. Her words rushed past Harry along with her as he remained stationary on his swing. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

The following day, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smelting’s uniform, and an astonished Violet was told she would be coming along as well. She found herself alone in the back seat of the car, worried and excited and guilty all at once. Harry had been left at Mrs. Figg’s for the day. He would smell like cats and cabbage when she got home, and knew that he wouldn’t be happy about it.

Aunt Petunia held Violet’s hand in a vice like grip as they walked from shop to shop, as though afraid she would slip into the shadows and disappear if let out of sight for even a moment. The first stop was for Dudley’s uniform  ━ Smeltings was an all-boys school, and the shop itself was full of only young boys and their mothers. Piers Polkiss was there was his mum, which meant that Dudley had some entertainment besides pinching Violet’s arms when Aunt Petunia wasn’t watching. 

Smeltings’ boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. Piers and the other boys who’d been fitted all preened and paraded for their cooing mothers, but it was clear that each of them was only excited about a single aspect of their new school attire: the stick. Violet couldn’t think of any reason why students should have to carry sticks around the school other than hitting one another with them, which was what some of the boys had already begun to do when their mums weren’t looking. Dudley was practically salivating as they waited in line. It took ages for him to get fitted, however. The poor shopkeeper kept having to run to the back of the shop in search of larger and larger jackets that would fit over Dudley’s immense frame. By the time they left, Violet’s hand was nearly numb.

The next stop, to Violet’s complete surprise, was another clothing store to buy a uniform for  _ her. _

The Stonewall uniform was entirely gray, and not nearly as expensive as Dudley’s uniform had been. Aunt Petunia went to the trouble of picking a few sizes off the rack for Violet to try on before buying the set, brand new and all. Violet had never owned any brand new clothing before.

“What about Harry?” she asked Aunt Petunia, as they were heading to the clerk’s counter. Her aunt’s lips tightened the way they always did when one of them dared to ask a question.

“What about him?”

“Isn’t he getting a uniform too?”

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “I’ve got some of Dudley’s old things at home to dye for him. They’ll look just like everybody else’s.”

Violet very much doubted that, but thought it best not to argue. She tried not to think about how Harry would react to that, and to their first day at school. Her, in her new and normal uniform, and him in his overlarge hand-me-downs. She held on to her shopping bag of clothes all the way home, wondering if he would be angry with her. It’s not like  _ asked _ for special treatment, and she certainly didn’t expect it. Dudley picked on her just as much as he did Harry, and Uncle Vernon had no problem at all with grabbing or hurting her. It was just Aunt Petunia who, sometimes, in the smallest of ways, seemed to show her a bit of kindness. Whatever the reason for it, and however it might have made her brother feel, Violet was grateful for it. She would take any little comfort from her family that she could get.

That night, when she explained what had happened, Violet was surprised at how unaffected Harry seemed at the news. Almost as though he expected it. He wasn’t angry with her, and he wasn’t as upset about his ‘uniform’ as she’d feared. He only seemed... resigned.

 

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning, which turned out to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink, filled with dirty rags and gray water. This, the twins realized, was to be Harry’s school uniform. Violet felt the guilt sitting in her belly like a stone.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses from the smell. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his new Smeltings stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

“Make Harry get it.

“Get the mail, Harry.”

“Make Violet get it.”

“Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley.”

Harry dodged the Smelting stick, ignored Violet’s glare, and went to get the mail while Violet continued nibbling on her toast.

“Hurry up, boy!” shouted Uncle Vernon, when Harry hadn’t returned for several moments. “What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?”

Violet watched as her brother shuffled back into the kitchen, staring at the stack of mail in his hands. He handed most of it to Uncle Vernon and then, wordlessly, passed a letter to Violet. She put her toast down and stared at it.

 

Ms. V. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

 

Violet swallowed, hard.

In her entire life, she had never once received a letter addressed directly to her, let alone one referring to the place in which she slept. Was that common in addressing letters? It seemed awfully forward.

The envelope itself was like no other letter she’d ever seen either. It was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. On the back of it, she noticed, carefully turning the thing over in her hands  ━ perhaps she  _ should _ check it for letter bombs  ━ was a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter  _ H. _ She ran her thumb over the hard, embossed symbol.

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Harry’s got something!”

Harry, who had already torn his envelope open and was at the point of unfolding the letter within, looked up sharply as the letter was jerked out of his hands by Uncle Vernon.

“That’s  _ mine,” _ he said, trying to snatch it back.

Immediately, and while no one was looking at her, Violet lifted the hem of her shirt and stuck her letter beneath it. It was just in time as well. Uncle Vernon had just shaken open Harry’s letter with one hand and glanced at it, and his face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. Then, most alarmingly of all, it went the greyish white of old porridge.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

Dudley made a grab for Harry’s letter, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking sound.

“Vernon! Oh my goodness ━ Vernon!”

They stared at each other, seeming to forget about the three children in the room. Dudley, who was not at all used to being ignored, gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.

“ _ I _ want to read it,” Harry said, even louder, “as it’s mine.”

“Get out, all of you,” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back into its envelope.

Violet practically leapt off her chair and made a beeline for the hall. She almost made it, too, before Uncle Vernon’s fat, meaty hand closed around her upper arm.

“Not you, girl ━ hand it over, I know you’ve got it.”

Violet shook her head frantically. 

“I don’t have anything, I swear!”

“Don’t you lie to me!” he snarled, yanking her closer to him. “Give it here!”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as her uncle began grabbing and pinching at her, trying to find the letter she’d tucked away. His hand found its way under the front of her shirt, and found the concealed parchment against her stomach. Violet wrenched herself out of his grasp, but the letter was already in his other hand.

“ _ Now _ get out,” Uncle Vernon said again, and again Violet went scurrying for the door. Harry, however, did not move.

“I WANT MY LETTER,” Harry shouted.

“Let  _ me _ see it!” demanded Dudley.

“OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon, and Violet had barely managed to get out of the way before her brother was thrown into the hall after her. A moment later and Dudley was pushed out with them. She watched the boys engage in a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry dropped flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between the door and the floor.

Violet didn’t care enough to try and listen to what her aunt and uncle were saying. Her arm hurt and would surely bruise, and her shirt suddenly felt as though it didn’t cover her properly.

“I  _ told _ you you were freaks,” Dudley hissed, in response to something he must have heard his mother and father say. He stepped on Harry’s hand before walking away, and gave Violet an unnecessary shove for good measure. Quietly, she went and helped her brother up off the floor.

“Did you hear anything?” she asked. Harry was rubbing the dirt from his knuckles where Dudley’s shoe had squashed them.

“Uncle Vernon thinks we’re being spied on,” he answered, frowning, “and that they don’t want us in the house.”

“They’ve  _ never _ wanted us in the house. But who would want to spy on us? We’re not... we’re nobody, aren’t we?”

Harry merely shrugged.

 

That evening, when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something that he’d never done before in the daytime; he visited Harry and Violet in their cupboard.

“Where’s our letters?” said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. Unfortunately, it was just large enough for him to do so. “Who’s writing to us?”

“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.”

“It was  _ not _ a mistake,” said Violet angrily, “it had our cupboard on it.”

“SILENCE!” yelled Uncle Vernon, and she immediately shrank backward. He took a few deep breaths, and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

“Er ━ yes, Violet ━ about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have thinking... you’re really getting too big for it, the the pair of you... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

The second bedroom was upstairs and down the hall from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s bedroom. Violet didn’t want to sleep there at all. At least sleeping under the stairs there was some warning of someone approaching. But right there, only a few short steps away.

“Why?” said Harry, who must have shared her suspicions.

“Don’t ask questions!” snapped their uncle in typical fashion. He glared at them as she shuffled backwards out of the cramped cupboard. “Take this stuff upstairs, now.”

The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister, Aunt Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. It only took one trip for the twins to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. Violet sat down on the bed ━ the  _ only _ bed, which she and Harry would again be sharing ━ and stared around herself. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor’s dog; in the corner was Dudley’s first ever television set, which he’d put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as through they’d never been touched.

Violet had never been allowed to read any books, other than the ones assigned to her in school. They Dursleys didn’t want them reading any fanciful stories and getting ideas in their head. But Dudley had been given loads of books over the years by well-meaning relatives and parents of friends who didn’t know what else to get him that he didn’t already  _ have. _

While Harry stretched out on the bed and pouted, Violet stood up and walked over to the shelves and went through all the titles on the spines. She picked out four or five that looked interesting, sat down on the floor, and began to read.

 

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back. Harry was still stewing over their stolen letters, which he’d grumbled about most of the evening before. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to the twins, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging thinks with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, “There’s more of them! ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive ━”

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind them. Violet listened to them struggling and fighting from the kitchen, watching Aunt Petunia’s face growing whiter and whiter. When Uncle Vernon returned, it was with his hands held high over his head and two crumpled envelopes clenched in his fists.

“Go to your cupboard ━ I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed, jerking his head at Violet to say that meant her, too. “Dudley ━ go ━ just go.”

Back in their new room, Harry was walking round and round with his hands balled up at his sides.

“Someone knows we’ve moved out of the cupboard,” he was saying, while Violet watched from behind her drawn up knees on the bed. “And they probably know we didn’t get our first set of letters. They’ve  _ got _ to know, or else why would they send more?”

“Then they’ll try again, won’t they?” asked Violet. Harry nodded firmly, not breaking his circular stride.

“They’ve got to. Whoever they are, they  _ want _ us to have those letters.  _ I _ want to have those letters! I don’t know what they are or who they’re from, but they were addressed to you and me and it’s not fair they we don’t get to read them. It feels important, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe it’s like we wanted, when we were little.”

“What do you mean?”

Violet chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment. She felt foolish to even think it. Those were just childhood dreams, thought up in boredom and desperation. She wished she hadn’t even brought it up, but now her brother had stopped pacing and was looking at her curiously. She took a deep breath.

“About someone coming to take us away,” Violet said quickly. “Or give us lots of money, or something. A relative that we didn’t know about. There’s got to be someone besides the Dursleys, hasn’t there? There’s  _ got _ to be.”

Harry was staring at her intensely, the way he sometimes did when he was plotting something rebellious. He was the brave one, out of the two of them. And right now, Violet could see that her words had lit a hopeful little fire inside of him.

Harry gave up on his pacing entirely and sat beside her on the bed. Violet allowed her hand to be taken and held, and relaxed slightly as Harry gave it a weak squeeze.

“I’m going to get those letters, Violet. I’ll get them for us. I promise.”

 

The next morning, Violet was awoken by Uncle Vernon shouting.

She rocketed out of bed and rushed to the top of the stairs, down which she could see the bulk of Uncle Vernon in his pajamas, standing in a sleeping bag like he was part of a sack race while Harry cowered back against the wall. He was dressed with his shoes on; likely, he’d tried to sneak out of the house and stumbled into Uncle Vernon lying in wait.

The shouting went on for nearly half an hour. Harry was sent to his room and Violet was told to make her uncle a cup of tea. By the time she had shuffled into the kitchen and back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon’s lap. She could see five letters addressed in green ink.

“I want ━” she began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters to pieces before her eyes.

Uncle Vernon did not go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can’t  _ deliver _ them they’ll just give up.”

“I’m not sure that’ll work, Vernon.”

“It won’t,” Harry said adamantly when Violet returned upstairs and told him what she’d seen. “They’ll keep coming, and Uncle Vernon can’t keep them all from us forever. You’ll see, Vi. He won’t stop them.”

 

By Saturday, things had begun to get out of hand.

Uncle Vernon had already missed two days of work. He’d boarded up the entire front door and all the cracks around it and half of the front windows. Not that it had done any good; twenty-four letters to Violet and Harry found their way into the house, rolled up inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious calls to the post office and the dairy to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

“Who on earth wants to talk to  _ you _ this badly?” Dudley asked Violet in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking rather tired and rather ill, but happy.

“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today ━”

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply in the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dusleys ducked, Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one ━

“Out! OUT!”

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. Violet, who had dropped to the floor and crawled underneath the table to try and snatch one of the fallen letters, cried out as she was grabbed by the hair and dragged out into the open.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, slamming kitchen door shut behind them. They could all hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”

He looked so furious and crazed that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had, for the very first time, hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn’t dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

“Shake ‘em off... shake ‘em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn’t stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He’d never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he’d missed five television programs he’d wanted to see, and he’s never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley shared a room with Harry and Violet with two twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, but the twins stayed wide awake, sitting on the windowsill, conversing in hushed voices about where they might be headed and what might be waiting for them when they got there.

 

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came up to their table.

“ ’Scuse me, but which of you are the Potters? Only I got about an ’undred of these at the front desk.”

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

 

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

 

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

“I’ll take them,” saud Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

“Wouldn’t it be better just to go home, dear?” Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

“Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he” Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

“It’s Monday,” he told his mother. “The Great Humberto’s on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a  _ television. _ ”

Monday. This reminded Violet of something. If if  _ was _ Monday ━ and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because television ━ then tomorrow, Tuesday, was her and Harry’s eleventh birthdays. Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun ━ last year, the Dursleys had given Harry a pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks and Violet had received a half empty packet of chewing gum. Still, you weren’t eleven every day. 

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn’t answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he’s bought.

“Found the perfect place!” he said. “Come on! Everyone out!”

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

“Storm forecast for tonight!” said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. “And this gentleman’s kindly agreed to lend us his boat!”

A toothless old man cam ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

“I’ve already got us some rations, “said Uncle Vernon, “so all aboard!”

It was freezing in the boat, and there was barely enough room for all of them. Dudley huddled close to his mother and buried his face in her thin shoulder, and Violet clung to Harry as the boat rocked and tilted beneath them. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon’s rations turned out to be a bag of chips and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chips bag just smoked and shriveled up.

“Could do with some of those letters now, eh?” he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Violet privately agreed, though the thought didn’t cheer her up at all. Harry looked as though he might cry out of frustration.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and the twins were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and curl up together under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more viciously as the night went on. Violet couldn’t sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. She and Harry hadn’t been allowed any chips, and had to share a single banana between them. Dudley’s snores were drowned out by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Violet that she and her brother would be eleven in ten minute’s time.

“It’s almost time,” she whispered to Harry beside her, who had been shivering violently ever since they stepped off the boat.

“For w-w-what?” he chattered.

Violet gave him a soft kick with one of her frozen feet. “Our birthday. Don’t tell me you forgot, too?”

Harry was silent for a long moment.

“How long n-now?”

“Five minutes to midnight.”

“What do you want to wish for?”

It was a tradition they had started, back when they were very young, to make a single shared wished together on their birthday. Back in their cupboard, they would talk and argue and decide what to wish on, and then they would curl up together, face to face and hand in hand with their eyes squeezed shut in concentration as they made their birthday wish. To date, none of them had ever come true. But they only got one wish a year; it would be a shame to waste it.

Three minutes to go. Violet twisted over onto her other side, facing Harry. She found his shaking hand with her own numb one.

“I want to go home,” she whispered. When Harry didn’t answer her she feared her words had been lost among the noises of the storm, but then ━

“Me too, Violet.”

Harry squeezed her hand, and they both shut their eyes and wished and wished with all of their might. It was odd, trying to think of exactly what ‘home’ was supposed to mean. The Dursleys’ house was where she’d lived for all of her life, but was it really home? Was home the cupboard under the stairs; a prison as much it was a bedroom? Could home be the new bedroom upstairs, surrounded by other broken and abandoned things? Whatever ‘home’ was, and where ever it could be found, that was where Violet wanted to be more than any place in the world. Not on the cold floor of a shack by the ocean. Not on a musty motel mattress on the outskirts of civilization. She wanted  _ home. _

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Violet sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	3. The Keeper of Keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

“Where’s the cannon?” he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands — now they knew what had been in a long, thin package he had brought with them.

“Who’s there?” he shouted. “I warn you — I’m armed!”

There was a pause. Then —

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

“Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey...”

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

“Budge up, yeh great lump,” said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

“An’ here they are!” said the giant.

Violet looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

“Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yer as lovely as yer mother,” said the giant, nodding to Violet before turning to Harry, “an’ you take a great deal after yer father!”

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

“I demand that you leave at once, sir!” he said. “You are breaking and entering!”

“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon’s hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

“Anyway — Harry, Violet,” said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, “ a very happy birthday to yeh both Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.”

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Violet remained completely frozen in shock, but Harry reached for it and opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with  _ Happy Birthday Harry + Violet _ written on it in green icing. The twins looked back up at the giant. Violet reflexively said, “Thank you,” at the same moment Harry asked, “Who are you?”

The giant chuckled.

“True, I haven’t introduced myself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys an Grounds at Hogwarts.”

He held out an enormous hand and took turns shaking each of their entire arms.

“What about that tea then, eh?” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’d not say no ter summat stronger if yeh’ve got it, mind.”

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn’t see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Violet felt the warmth wash over her as though she’d sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy pack of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a litte. Uncle Vernon said sharply, “Don’t touch anything he gives you, Dudley.”

The giant chuckled darkly.

“Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ anymore, Dursley, don’ worry.”

He passed the sausages to Harry and Violet in turn, who were so hungry they had never tasted anything so wonderful, but neither could they take their eyes off of the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, Harry took the initiative and said, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t really know who you are.”

The giant took a gulp of his tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Call me Hagrid,” he said, “everyone does. An’ like I told yeh, I’m Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.”

“Er — no,” said Harry.

Hagrid looked shocked.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly.

“ _ Sorry? _ ” barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. “It’s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren’t gettin’ yer letters but I never though yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?”

“All what?” asked Violet.

“ALL WHAT?” Hagrid thundered. “Now wait jus’ one second!”

Violet scrambled backward as he leapt to his feet, tucking herself behind Harry as best she could. But Hagrid’s attention was not focused on the twins at all. He rounded on the Dursleys, cowering against the wall, and his anger seemed to fill the whole hut.

“Do you meant ter tell me,” he growled at the Dursleys, “that these kids — these kids! — know nothin’ abou’ — abou’ ANYTHING?”

“We know  _ some _ things,” Harry said, even as Violet yanked hard at the back of his shirt to try and shush him. “We can, you know, do math and stuff.”

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, “About  _ our _ world, I mean.  _ Your _ world.  _ My _ world. Yer  _ parent’s _ world.”

“What world?”

Hagrid looked as he was about to explode.

“DURSLEY!” he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, was had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like “Mimblewimble.” Hagrid stared wildly at the twins.

“But yeh must know about yer mum and dad,” he said. “They’re  _ famous. _ You’re  _ famous. _ ”

That pricked up Violet’s ears. She peeked out from behind Harry’s shoulder, more confident now that the anger was not being directed at her.

“How could they be famous?” she asked. “We’ve never heard anything about that before.”

“Yeh don’ know... yeh don’ know...” Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing the pair of them with a bewildered stare.

“Yeh don’ know what yeh  _ are? _ ” he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

“Stop!” he commanded. “Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell them anything!”

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

“You never told them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer them? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An’ you’ve kept it from them for all these years!”

“Kept  _ what _ from us?” said Harry eagerly.

“STOP! I FORBID YOU!” yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

“Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” said Hagrid. “Harry — yer a wizard.”

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

“I’m a  _ what?” _ gasped Harry.

“A wizard, o’ course,” said Hagrid. “And Miss Violet, that’d make you a witch. An’ a thumpin’ good’un I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With a mum and dad likes yours, what else would yeh be? An’ I reckon it’s abou’ time yeh read yer letters.”

Hagrid reached back into his coat and produced two yellowish envelopes, addressed in green ink, one for Harry and one for Violet: Ms. V. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. With shaking hands, the twins reached for the envelopes and finally pulled out the letters inside, and began to read:

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_ of _ WITCHCRAFT _ and _ WIZARDRY

 

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

( _ Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_ Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards _ )

 

Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

 

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall,

_ Deputy Headmistress _

 

Violet stared, numbly and dumbly, at the thick piece of parchments in her hands and the words it contained. She reread it twice, and then a third time, just to be sure she understood correctly. Accepted to a  _ school _ for witches and wizards? Her? And Harry, too?

Her brother, as usual, must have managed to collect his thoughts quick enough to ask, “What does it mean, they await our owl?”

“Gallopin’ Gorgons, that reminds me,” said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl — a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Violet could read upside down:

 

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Potters their letters.

Taking them to buy their things tomorrow.

Weather’s horrible. Hope you’re well.

Hagrid

 

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Violet realized her mouth was open and closed it quickly.

“Where was I?” said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

“They’re not going,” he said.

Hagrid grunted.

“I’d like ter see a great Muggle like you stop ‘em,” he said.

“A what?” said Harry.

“A Muggle,” said Hagrid, “it’s what we call nonmagic folk like them. An’ it’s bad like you two grew up in a family o’ the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on.”

“We swore when we took them in we’d put a stop to that rubbish,” said Uncle Vernon, “swore we’d stamp it out of them!”

“You  _ knew? _ ” said Violet, finally finding her voice. “The whole time, and you  _ knew _ we were magic?”

“Knew!” shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. “ _ Knew! _ Of course we knew! How could you not be, my sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that  _ school _ — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!”

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all of this for years.

“Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you’d be just as strange, just as — as —  _ abnormal _ — and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you lot!”

Violet had gone very white, staring at the malice in her Aunt’s narrowed eyes.

“Blown up?” Harry said, the first to find his words. “You told us they died in a car crash!”

“CAR CRASH!” roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. “How could a car crash kill Lily an’ James Potter! It’s an outrage! A scandal! The Potter’s children not knowin’ their own story when every kid our world knows their names!”

“But why?” Harry pressed urgently, “what happened?”

The anger faded from Hagrid’s face. He looked suddenly anxious.

“I never expected this,” he said, in a low, worried voice. “I had no idea, Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin’ hold of yeh, how much yeh didn’t know. Ah, you two, I don’ know if I’m the right person ter tell yeh — but someone’s gotta — yeh can’t go off ter Hogwarts not knowin’.”

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

“Well, it’s best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can’t tell yeh everythin’, it’s a great myst’ry, parts of it...”

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, “It begins, I supposed, with a person called — but it’s incredible yeh don’ know his name, everyone in our world knows —”

“Who?”

“Well — I don’ like saying the name if I can help it. No one does.”

“Why not?”

“Gulpin’ gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse than worse. His name was...”

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

“Could you write it down?” Violet suggested softly.

“Nah — can’t spell it. All right —  _ Voldemort. _ ” Hagrid shuddered. “Don’ make me say it again. Anyways, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ‘em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his powers, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, those were. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange witches or wizards... terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ’Course, some stood up to him — an’ he killed them. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then, anyway.

“Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an’ girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ’em on his side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side.

“Maybe he though he could persuade ’em... maybe he just wanted ’em outta the way. All anyone knows it, he turned up in the village where you all was living, on Halloween ten years ago. You lot was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ — an’ —”

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

“Sorry,” he said. “But it’s that sad — knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find — anyway...

“You-Know-Who killed ’em. An’ then — an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But he couldn’t do it.” Hagrid paused and turned his attention solely on Harry. “Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house even — but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why you’re famous. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ’em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches and wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.”

Violet stared at her brother, at the jagged scar now standing out livid on his pallid forehead. As Hagrid’s story came to a close, something very painful began to swirl in her mind; she saw the blinding green flash of light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before — and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life. A high, cold, cruel laugh. Nothing that she or Harry had ever recalled before in all their long talks about their earliest memories had ever been as crisp as that sound, ringing through her mind.

Hagrid was watching them sadly.

“Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brough yeh ter this lot...”

“Load of old tosh,” said Uncle Vernon. Violet jumped; she had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were even there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

“Now, you listen here,” he snarked, “I accept there’s something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn’t have curted — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they’d come to a sticky end —”

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, “ I’m warning you, Dursley — I’m warning you — one more word...”

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon’s courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

“That’s better,” said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor. Violet quite enjoyed the sight of her uncle being the one to cower for a change.

“But what happened to Vol-, sorry —”, Harry started; Violet could practically feel him buzzing with curiosity and questions beside her. “I mean, what happened to You-Know-Who?”

“Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That’s the biggest myst’ry, see... he was gettin’ more an’ more powerful — why’d he go?

“Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’t believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some ’em came outta kinda trances. Don’ reckon they could’ve done if he was comin’ back.

“Most of us reckon he’s still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. ’Cause somethin’ about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin’ goin’ on that night he hadn’t counted on —  _ I _ dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right.”

Hagrid was looking at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Violet, sitting beside her brother, felt a terrible mix of pride and jealousy clashing in her tummy. Like oil poured onto a glass of water, the two bubbled and fought to occupy the same space inside her: pride, that her brother was someone special, and jealousy that she, apparently, was not. It must have been by bad luck that this You-Know-Who had targeted Harry first instead of her. But if it had been the other way around, would she be the one sitting there with a scar on her forehead? Or would she be dead, too, like their parents? It was a terrible thing to think, but it was what Harry said next that made it all the worse.

“Hagrid,” he said quietly. “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think we can be wizards.”

Violet stared at her twin in disbelief, but Hagrid merely chuckled.

“Not wizards, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?”

“The glass,” Violet said quickly. She grabbed onto Harry’s arm to make him look at her. “At the zoo, and the — the snake! And all the time we were running so fast it felt like our feet weren’t even on the ground? And Harry, your  _ hair _ — don’t you remember? All those things we could never explain, were never allowed to talk about — can’t you see now what it was?”

Harry looked between her and Hagrid, who was beaming at them.

“See?” said Hagrid. “Yer sister’s got the right of it. The Potter’s children, not wizards — you said, you’ll both be right famous at Hogwarts.”

But Uncle Vernon wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

“Havent’d I told you they’re not going?” he hissed. “They’re going to Stonewall High and they will be grateful for it. I’ve read those letters and they need all sorts of rubbish — spellbooks and wands and —”

“If they want ter go, a great Muggle like you won’t stop them” growled Hagrid. “Stop Lily an’ James Potter’s kids goin’ ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their name’s been down ever since they were born. They’re off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. They’ll be with youngsters of their own sort, fer a change, an’ be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—”

“I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICKS!” yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, “NEVER —” he thundered, “—INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!”

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing around on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Violet saw a curly pig’s tail poking out through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

“Shouldn’ta lost me temper,” he said ruefully, “but it didn’t work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn’t much left ter do.”

He cast a sideways look at the twins under his bushy eyebrows.

“Be grateful if yeh didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts,” he said. “I’m — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin’. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an’ get yer letters to yeh an’ stuff — one o’ the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job —”

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry, before Violet could stop him. It’s not that she didn’t want to know as well, but Violet had always had a better grasp of what sort of questions were considered rude to ask directly. Harry was still learning. 

“Oh, well —” Hagrid said, clearly caught off guard, “I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an’ everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore.”

“Why were you — ow!”

Violet had nudged her brother hard in the ribs with her elbow. He scowled, but at least he shut up. They’d only just met Hagrid; the last thing she wanted was for him to hate them.

Hagrid yawned loudly.

“It’s gettin’ late and we’ve got lots ter do tomorrow,” he said, stretching out his arms over his enormous head. They reached high enough for his knuckles to scrape the ceiling. “Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an’ that.”

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to the twins.

“You can kip under that,” he said. “Don’ mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o’ dormice in one o’ the pockets.”


	4. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

Violet hardly slept at all that night. She kept waking herself up to look at the couch and make sure that the big, hairy giant called Hagrid was still sleeping there. She had to be sure that it wasn’t all a dream or a trick or — worse — some horrible prank by the Dursleys to crush their spirits even further. Magic children with famous parents, an evil wizard that couldn’t kill them, a whole school full of witches and wizards... it all sounded too good to be true. And yet there Hagrid was every time Violet opened her eyes, his great chest rising and falling as he slept. Beside her, buried under Hagrid’s massive black coat, Harry was fast asleep, his eyes moving frantically behind his lids. Dreams. And perhaps the same fears as his sister.

When Violet finally opened her eyes for good, gritty with sleep and sore from laying on the hard stone floor all night, it was to the sight of sunlight shining through the windows of the hut and filling the room with light. The storm was over. Hagrid remained on the collapsed sofa, and, mostly oddly of all, there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, with a newspaper held in its beak.

Violet scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over Harry as she did. She went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn’t wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid’s coat.

“Vi, stop,” said Harry’s muffled voice from beneath the heavy black fabric.

“It’s not me,” she hissed, trying to wave the owl off of him, but it snapped its beak fiercely at her and carried on savaging the coat.

“What? Then who —”

Harry’s head popped out from beneath the coat. He squinted, as he wasn’t wearing his glasses, at the fluffy little brown shape on top of him, and let out a sharp yelp.

“Get it off me!”

“I’m trying! Hagrid!” said Violet loudly. “Please wake up, there’s an owl —”

“Pay him,” Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

“What?”

“He wants payin’ fer deliverin’ the paper. Look in the pockets.”

Harry scrambled out from beneath the coat and helped her search. Hagrid’s coat seemed to be made of nothing  _ but _ pockets — bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags... finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

“Give him five Knuts,” said Hagrid sleepily.

“Which ones are those?” Violet asked.

“The little bronze ones.”

Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out its leg so that he could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then, it flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

“Best be off, you two, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an’ buy all yer stuff fer school.”

Violet, who had just recently been to London with Aunt Petunia, couldn’t imagine where in the city they could possibly find any equipment for wizard school. She had seen plenty of accountant’s offices, law offices, travel agencies, specialty repair shops, and even a bakery, but nowhere that looked like it was remotely capable of selling magical things. Then again if there  _ were _ such a place, it would be just like Aunt Petunia to avoid walking past it.

Harry, however, voiced another valid concern. One that hadn’t even occured to her.

“Um — Hagrid?” he said, still turning over the funny little coins in his hand.

“Mm?” said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

“We haven’t got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night... he won’t pay for us to go and learn magic.”

Violet’s heart sank into her stomach. Of course they’d need money, of which they had absolutely none. The Dursleys had never given them an allowance, and any money they had managed to scrounge up — from between couch cushions or off the pavement while out for walk — was always found and claimed by Uncle Vernon during the monthly raids on their cupboard in search of anything they might have stolen or be trying to hide. Violet had once saved up a whole seven pounds in change, and kept it secret for three months until their Uncle had found it and taken it away. Now, she had nothing. She  _ couldn’t _ go to wizard school after all.

“Don’t worry about that,” Hagrid said, snapping her out of her miserable thoughts as he stood up to scratch his head. “D’yeh think yer parents didn’t leave yeh anything?”

“But if their house was destroyed —”

“They didn’ keep their money in the house, boy! Nah, first stop for us is Gringotts. Wizard’s bank. Have a sausage, they’re not bad cold — an’ I wouldn’ say no teh a bit o’ yer birthday cake, neither.”

“Wizard’s have  _ banks?” _

“Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins.”

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding, and Violet’s mind made a noise like a record-scratch.

“ _ Goblins?” _

“Yeah — so yeh’d be mad to try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe — ’cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o’ fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid drew himself up proudly. “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you — gettin’ things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see.

“Got everythin’? Come on, then.”

The twins followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

“How did you get here?” Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

“Flew,” said Hagrid.

“ _ Flew?” _ the twins said in unison.

“Yeah — but we’ll go back in this. Not s’pposed ter use magic now I’ve got yeh.”

They settled down in the boat, Violet and Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

“Seems a shame ter row, though,” said Hagrid, giving them another of his sideways looks. “If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin’ it at Hogwarts?”

“Of course not,” Harry said, and looked to Violet, who nodded adamantly. They were both eager to see more magic; Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

“Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?” Harry asked.

“Spells — enchantments,” said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke.”They said there’s dragons guardin’ the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh’d die of hunger tryin’ ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat.”

The twins sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the  _ Daily Prophet. _ They had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be alone while they did this, but it was very difficult for them, as they’d never had so many questions in their lives.

“Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual,” Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

“There’s a Ministry of Magic?” Violet asked, before she could stop herself.

“’Course,” said Hagrid. “They wanted Dumbledore fer Miniser, o’ course, but he’d never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if every there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.”

“But what does a Ministry of Magic  _ do? _ ”

“Well, their main just is to keep it from the Muggles that there’s still witches an’ wizards up an’ down the country.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“ _ Why? _ Blimey, Harry, everyone’d be wantin’ magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we’re best left alone.”

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Violet couldn’t blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, “See that? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?”

“Hagrid,” said Harry, a question in his voice even as the two of them panted to keep up with Hagrid’s massive stride, “did you say there are  _ dragons _ at Gringotts?”

“Well, so they say,” said Hagrid. “Crikey, I’d like a dragon.”

“You’d  _ like _ one?” Violet asked, astonished. All the tales she’d ever heard about dragons painted them as great, vicious monsters who cared for nothing but their treasure hoards and would burn whole villages just to feed themselves. Hagrid was a large man, but surely not large enough to keep a dragon for a pet.

“Wanted one ever since I was a kid,” he went on, holding the door open for them as they passed into the station. “Here we go, now.”

There was a train to London in five minutes’ time. Hagrid, who didn’t understand ‘Muggle Money,’ as he called it, gave the bills to Violet so she could buy their tickets

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

“Still got yer letters, kids?” he asked as he counted the stitches.

Harry took both parchment envelopes out of his pocket, his and Violet’s, whose skirt had no pockets at all, and passed her the one with her name on it.

“Good,” said Hagrid. “There’s a list there of everything yeh need.”

Violet unfolded a second piece of paper she hadn’t noticed before, and read:

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_ of _ WITCHCRAFT _ and _ WIZARDRY

 

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

  1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
  2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
  3. One pair of protective gloves (dragonhide or similar)
  4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)



Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags

 

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_ The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _

__ by Miranda Goshawk

_ A History of Magic _ by Batilda Bagshot

_ Magical Theory _ by Adalbert Waffling

_ A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration _ by Emeric Switch

_ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _

  by Phyllida Spore

_ Magical Drafts and Potions _ by Arsenius Jigger

_ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _

  by Newt Scamander

_ The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection _

  By Quentin Trimble

 

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

 

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE 

NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

 

“Can you buy all this in London?” Harry asked, echoing Violet’s fears exactly. Hagrid winked.

“If yeh know where to go.”

 

Violet had only been to London a  handful of times with Aunt Petunia, but she had never realized until now just how large the city really was. She’d only gotten to see a tiny portion of it as she was dragged from shop to shop, and Harry had never even been to the city at all. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

“I don’t know how Muggles manage without magic,” he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowds easily; all Harry and Violet had to do was hold hands and keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spellbooks and broomsticks? And if so, how did they keep Muggles from just wandering and poking around?

Violet got something of an answer moments later as Hagrid drew to a halt.

“This is it,” he said, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.”

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, Violet wouldn’t have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn’t see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Violet suspected that only the three of them could see it after all. Before she could ask if she was right or not, Hagrid had steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hot was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” said Hagrid, clapping his great hands on Harry and Violet’s shoulders and making their knees buckle.

“Good Lord,” said the bartender, peering at the twins, “is this — can this be —?”

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

“Bless my soul,” whispered the old bartender, “The Potters... what an honour.”

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward the twins and seized each of their hands in turn, tears in his eyes.

“Welcome back, children, welcome back.”

Violet didn’t know what to say. Everyone was looking at them. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, the twins found themselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

“Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”

“So proud, Miss Potter, I’m just so proud.”

“Always wanted to shake your hand — I’m all of a flutter.”

“Delighted, Miss Potter, just can’t tell you, Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

“I’ve seen you before,” said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle made to shake his hand as well. “You bowed to us once in a shop.”

“They remember!” cried Mr. Diggle, looking around at everyone. “Did you hear that? He remembers me!”

The twins shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching. Violet was incredibly grateful that he did not reach out for her.

“Professor Quirrell!” said Hagrid. “Children, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”

“P-P-Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell, nodding jerkily to each one of them in turn, “c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you both.”

“What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?” Harry asked. 

“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark arts,” muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he’d rather not think about it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, children?” He laughed nervously. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn’t let Professor Quirrell keep the twins to himself it took almost ten minutes to get away from them all, no thanks to Harry and his questions. Though he seemed just as bewildered as Violet at all the attention, her brother was undoubtedly handling it with more enthusiasm. Harry thrived on attention, good or bad; Violet shrank from it. She very badly wished to shrink away from this entire scene and all of the people looking at her, staring and touching.

At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

“Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Violet.”

Doris Crockford shook each of their hands one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bard and out into a small, walled courtyard, where the was nothing but a trash bin and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at them.

“Told yeh, didn’t I? Told yeh you were famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh — mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”

“Is he always that nervous?”

“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience... they say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag — never been the same, since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”

Vampires? Hags? Harry and Violet shared a look of mingled confusion and excitement. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting brings in the wall above the trash bin.

“Three up... two acros...” he muttered. “Right, stand back.”

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”

He grinned at the twins’ amazement. They stepped through the archway. Violet looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

“Yeah, you’ll be needin’ those,” said Hagrid, “but we gotta get yer money first.”

Violet wished she had about eight more eyes. She and Harry turned their heads in ever direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside and Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, “Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad.”

A low, soft hooting came from a dark ship with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about the twins’ age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. “Look,” Violet heard one of them say, “the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever —” There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Violet had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eel’s eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

“Gringotts,” said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside it’s burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was —

“Yeah, that’s a goblin,” said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Violet and Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Violet noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

 

_ Enter, stranger, but take heed _

_ Of what awaits the sin of greed, _

_ For those who take, but do not earn, _

_ Must pay most dearly in their turn. _

_ So if you seek beneath our floors _

_ A treasure that was never yours, _

_ Thief, you have been warning, beware _

_ Of finding more than treasure there. _

 

“Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it,” said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and the twins made for the counter.

“Morning,” said Hagrid to a free goblin. “We’ve come to take some money outta Mr. and Miss Potter’s safe.”

“You have their key, sir?”

“Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin’s book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Violet watched the goblin on their right weigh a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

“Got it,” said Hagrid at this, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

“That seems to be in order.”

“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

The goblin read the letter very carefully.

“Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid, “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and the twins followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off of the hall.

“What’s the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?” Harry asked, despite the fact that it was clearly a secret and they weren’t meant to know about it.

“Can’t tell yeh that,” said Hagrid reasonably. “Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore’s trusted me. More’n my job’s worth ter tell yeh that.”

Griphook held the door open for them. Violet, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistles and a small cart came hurtling up the track toward them. They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Violet tried to remember, left, right, right, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling car seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn’t steering.

Violet clung to Harry’s arm, eyes stinging as the cold air rushed past them, but unable to close them and look away. Once, Harry twisted around in his seat as though he’d seen something, but she’d thought he was falling out of the cart and only clung to him all the tighter. Down, down they plunged every deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalagmites and stalactites grew from the ceiling and the floor.

When they finally came to stop beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to learn against the wall to stop his knees from trembling. Violet reached up and patted his elbow, which earned her a wobbly smile.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Violet and Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts. They covered the floor, piled nearly to the ceiling in some places and all gleaming and spotless as if they’d only been minted the day before.

“All yours,” smiled Hagrid.

All theirs — it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn’t have known about this or they’ve have had it from the twins faster than blinking. How often had they complained about how much Harry and Violet cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a fortune belonging to them, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped them pile some of it into two small bags. Even though he was grabbing handfuls it didn’t make some so much as a dent.

“The gold ones are Galleons,” he explained. “Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough.”

It absolutely was  _ not _ easy enough; that was the most ridiculous system Violet ever heard of, yet she didn’t feel qualified enough to argue the subject, certainly not with a goblin bank clerk standing right there. She hefted her bag of gold in both hands and frowned at it. Hagrid turned to Griphook.

“Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?”

“One speed only,” said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled around tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try and see what was down at the dark bottom, but Violet squealed and pulled him back by the scruff of his shirt.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

“Stand back,” said Griphook important. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,” said Griphook.

“How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?” Violet asked.

“About once every ten years,” said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Violet was sure, and she and Harry leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least — but at first they thought it was empty. Then they noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Violet longed to know what it was, and for once wished Harry had been foolish enough to ask.

“Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don’ talk to me on the way back, it’s best if I keep me mouth shut,” said Hagrid.

 

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Violet didn’t know where to run first now that she had a bag full of money. She didn’t have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she’d ever had in her whole life — more money that even Dudley had ever had.

“Might as well get yer uniforms,” said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Listen, you two, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.”

“Is that allowed?” asked Violet nervously. “We can just go off on our own?”

“Well — er —” What was visible of Hagrid’s face beneath the beard flushed a bright red, and he avoided her eyes. “Strictly speakin’ I don’ reckon I’m  _ s’pposed _ ter let yeh outta me sight.” His expression turned almost pleading. “But it’s only fer a minute or so, and so long as yeh both promise not ter wander — just go right into the shop an’ straight back out, nowhere else — an’ I’ll be waitin’ for yeh outside. Promise, cross me heart.”

Violet bit her lip. Hagrid was looking a bit sick still, but she didn’t like the thought of being away from him. She’d felt safe by his side ever since they’d met, and that wasn’t a feeling that came naturally, even with Harry beside her. And it was Harry who, still beside her now, grabbed her hand and gave her courage to nod and see Hagrid off on his way. The twins entered the shop alone, but hand in hand.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch all dressed in mauve.

“Hogwarts, dears?” she said, when they started to speak. “Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. Whichever of you wants to go first, come along.”

Harry looked to Violet with a question, the answer to which she gave by shaking her head and letting go of his hand. While he followed Madam Malkin into the back of the shop, Violet settled herself on a wide velvet sofa and tried not to let her nerves get the best of her.

She could hear voices as she sat there — her brother’s as well as another boy’s — though far too muffled to understand what was being said, and allowed to really think about how surreal and unbelievable the last twelve hours of her life had been.

A giant had flew in during a storm to deliver some letters, and tried to turn Dudley into a pig but failed; a pub full of strangers crowded to shake her hand as though she were a celebrity; a brick wall melted and shrank right before her eyes, leading to a secret part of London that she had never dreamed could exist; goblins were looking after the fortune her parents had left her in real gold coins; and now, in the middle of the day while wide awake, she was waiting in a shop to have a set of clothes tailored for her.

It was impossible. It was unthinkable. It was absolutely ridiculous and yet here she was with a heavy pouch of money in her lap and no idea what could possibly happen next that day. She was going to wizard school.  _ Wizard _ school, which was for  _ wizards _ — and witches, which she apparently was. It was — it was  _ bonkers _ , as her old social studies teacher used to say. Utterly bonkers.

But at the same time, how  _ wonderful. _

Violet was startled out of her thoughts by a loud exclamation from the back room and a loud tapping on the window from outside. She whipped around to see Hagrid standing there, as promised, grinning at her and holding three large ice cream cones in a single hand. He pointed at them and then to the door of the shop, and shook his head. Violet smiled at him in understanding. Perhaps he hadn’t left them to go the pub after all. No one had ever bought her ice cream before, just because they wanted to. It was sweet, and made her heart swell up in her chest.

It deflated slightly, however, when Harry returned from the back room of the shop.

Gone was his confident air and reassuring smile. He was holding a large paper bag, which presumably contained his new robes, and leaned in close to Violet as she stood up to take her turn getting fitted.

“Don’t say anything to the boy back there,” he muttered into her ear, “don’t even listen to him. It was like talking to Dudley.”

Violet immediately deflated. One did not so much talk to Dudley as Dudley would talk  _ at _ them. She put on a brave face, feeling nervous again though trying not to show it as she stepped cautiously into the back of the shop.

A boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin smiled at Violet and had her stand on a stool next to him, and quickly slipped a long black robe over Violet’s head. When her head was no longer covered, she realized that the boy was staring at her.

“Hello,” she said against her better judgement.

“There was a boy in her a moment ago who looked just like you,” he said, quite rudely. “Do you know him?”

“We’re twins,” Violet answered.

“Oh. I just supposed you all looked alike.”

Violet’s face began to burn. She turned away from the boy and stared at a spot on the wall. The boy either did not get the hint that she was done speaking with him or simply didn’t care. Violet would bet all her new-found fortune on the latter; she knew now why Harry thought the boy was like Dudley.

“Your brother said you’re with that beastly man out there, is that true? Is he another relative of yours?” When Violet remained silent, he pressed on. “You  _ are _ from a wizarding family, aren’t you, even if your parents are dead?”

Harry had only been back here with the boy for five minutes, Violet thought angrily, how could he have possibly blabbed out so much about them?

“Are you listening to me?” the boy beside her said, loudly, and with an inflection to his voice that was all too familiar to Violet. “Are you deaf, or just playing at being stupid?”

“Leave me alone,” Violet said sharply. She turned to look at the boy and was pleased by the shock on his face. It was likely no one had ever spoken to him like that before, and Violet felt proud to be the first. But the shock quickly melted into anger, and her pride went right back to its natural state of unease.

“I was only trying to be friendly,” the boy said, as though she were the one to insult  _ him. _

“That’s not how you make friends,” she told him. She returned her gaze to the spot on the wall. “If you’d ever had a friend before you’d know that already.”

The boy opened his mouth to retort but before he got the chance Madam Malkin said, “All right, and that’s you done as well, dear,” and Violet, wanting to leave before her nerves came back in full force, stepped down from the footstool and strode away quick as she could.

Harry and Hagrid were waiting outside the shop for her. They had both already started on their ice cream and hers were beginning to go a bit melted, but it was a great comfort after the unpleasantness in the shop. Harry seemed to be in better spirits as well. He and Hagrid were discussing some sort of sport when she arrived.

“And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?” Harry asked, and Violet nearly dropped her ice cream.

“Are you alright? You sounded a bit funny just then.”

“It’s what that boy said they were called,” Harry said, his ears reddening. He looked up at Hagrid. “I did say it right, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeh did, don’t you worry. School houses, they are. There’s four. Everyone said Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but —”

“I bet I’m in Hufflepuff,” said Harry gloomily. Violet nudged him with her shoulder and smiled.

“Then at least we’ll be duffers together, yeah?”

“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin, “ Hagrid said darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went back who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

“Vol-, sorry — You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?” asked Harry.

“Years an’ years ago,” said Hagrid.

‘What about the others?” Violet asked, catching a particularly big drip before it got to her hand. Hagrid looked at her blankly. “The other Houses, I mean. You said there were four of them.”

“Oh, that! Aye, that there in. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are the last two, and they’ve got some fine witches an’ wizards comin’ out of them. Yer parents were Gryffindors, the both of them.”

“But what  _ are _ Houses, Hagrid?” Violet asked earnestly. “What do they mean?”

Hagrid simply chuckled and patted her on the head hard enough to rattle her teeth.

“I think I best leave that fer yeh to see on yer own, Violet.”

 

They bought the twin’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stalled to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Violet reluctantly put back a beautifully illustrated book of fanciful creatures, but Hagrid had to almost drag Harry away from  _ Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) _ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

“I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley.”

“I’m not sayin’ that’s not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances,” said Hagrid. “An’ anyway, yeh couldn’ work any of them curses yet, yeh’ll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level.”

Hagrid also stopped Harry from buying a solid gold cauldron (“It says pewter on yer list”), but the twins each got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and pair of collapsible brass telescopes. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, stringes of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of basic potion ingredients for them, Harry and Violet examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and miniscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop.)

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked their list again.

“Just yer wands left — oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh yer birthday presents!”

Violet felt herself go red.

“But the ice cream —”

“Was a treat, not a proper present. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yeh yer animals. Not toads, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at — an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer each an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry mail an’ everythin’...”

Harry began to follow Hagrid toward the owl shop with a bounce in his step, but Violet felt herself hanging back. Fortunately, her brother noticed and stopped.

“What’s wrong, Vi?”

“I — I don’t know if I want an owl,” Violet said, hoping that Hagrid wouldn’t hear her. But he had also noticed the two of them holding back and had come over to find out the problem.

“That’s alrigh’!” Hagrid said quickly, “I didn’t mean yeh  _ had _ to get one, only — only that it’d be nice ter — Well. What sort’a pet would yeh like ter have?”

Violet bit her lip for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She felt on the verge of crying; Hagrid had been to kind and only wanted to keep being kinder. He’d offered to buy her a pet and she didn’t want to make him feel as though it wasn’t good enough or that she was ungrateful for the offer — yet the thought of carrying an owl around and keeping it in her room held no appear to her whatsoever. It wasn’t polite of her, but —

“Violet?”

Harry’s voice cut through her panic and Violet realized that she’d been crying after all. She quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her brother was looking at her steadily, as he always did when she got like this; a calming, stable focus when everything felt like it was falling to pieces. Harry made her feel like everything was okay.

“I’d like a cat,” said Violet wetly, looking up at Hagrid and finding him with watery eyes as well. “I’ve always wanted one since we found those kitten under the porch and Aunt Petunia made us give them away, they’re so soft and lovely and I’m scared of big birds like the ones we saw outside. And toads are slimy, and I don’t want to be laughed at. So I think I’d really like a cat. Please.”

Hagrid let out a great sob.

“Well o’  _ course _ yeh can have a cat! Yeh can have any cat you like, any at all.Yell you what — why don’t yeh go on in and pick one out fer yerself. Look at me, already blubberin’, and not wantin’ to add sneezin’ on top of it. A great ruddy mess I make, I tell yeh — well go on, now! We’’ll all meet right back here, just like before.”

Twenty minutes later. Violet met back up with Harry and Hagrid and introduced one another to their news pets. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing, and while Violet had both arms wrapped around very large, very orange cat with a bottlebrush tail and a slightly squished face. They both stammered their thanks to Hagrid, sounding like a chorus of Professor Quirrells.

“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Don’ expect you’ve have a lot of presents from the Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now — only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wands.”

A magic wand... the twins shared looks of excitement; this was what they had really been looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside it. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Violet felt strangely as though they had entered a very strict library; she reached out for Harry’s sleeve as she looked around at the thousands and thousands of narrow boxes piled nearly up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in her seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Violet jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was staring before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hello,” said Harry awkwardly. Violet shrank further behind him.

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d been seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” His gaze flicked to Violet, peering over her brother’s shoulder, “and Violet Potter, too. My, my. What a pair you make. I must say, you do favor your father’s features. A fine wand, that; Mahogany. Eleven inches. Pliable. Quite powerful and excellent for transfiguration. Though to look at you both now, I see it —”

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to them. Violet wished his wouldn’t.

“You have your mother’s eyes. It seemed only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Another fine wand she favoured, ten and quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice for charm work. Well, I say your mother favoured in — it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

Mr. Ollivander had come so close to them now that Violet could perfectly see herself reflected in those misty eyes. He reached out, slowly, but not for her.

“And that’s where...”

Mr. Ollivander touched the lighting scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I’d knows what that wand was going out into the world to do...”

He shook his head and then, to the twins’ relief, spotted Hagrid.

“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”

“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.

“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

“Er — yes, they did, yes, “ said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.

“But you don’t  _ use _ them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Violet noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spike.

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well now, Miss Potter. Let me see.” Violet snapped to attention at the use of her name; Mr. Ollivander had withdrawn a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket, and was moving around toward her. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Well, I— I’m left handed?” said Violet.

“Are you? Wonderful. Hold out your arm, if you please. That’s it.” He measured Violet from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to foot, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

Violet suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled to a heap on the floor. “Right then, Ms. Potter. Try this one. Rowan and phoenix feather, ten inches. A bit whippy. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Violet took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

“Walnut and dragon heartstring. Seven inches, somewhat springy. Try —”

Violet tried — but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

“No, no — here, alder and unicorn hair, twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Nice and sturdy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

Violet took the wand, and held it. Mr. Ollivander did not immediately take it away again, which seemed promising, so she tried giving the wand a little circular wave. Immediately she felt wave of warmth through her fingers, and from the end spouted a little shower of silver and gold sparks that shimmered all the way down the floor before vanishing without a trace. Hagrid cheered and Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together in delight.

“Ah, yes, wonderful, wonderful! I had expected something of a trial, but it is so lovely to find one’s match right away, is it not? And what a magnificent wand it is, too. I sense you shall find it most helpful to you, Ms. Potter, and you will be quite good for it in turn.”

Violet didn’t know what any of that meant. She didn’t really know what all had just happened, though there was a feeling now as she still held the wand in her hand — a  _ familiarity _ of sorts that made her feel quite comfortable. The wand itself was a pale wood, polished to a shine, with a distinct grey stripe running through the grain all the way from handle to tip. And somehow, it was  _ hers. _

The wand was placed back in its box for safekeeping, and Violet joined Hagrid in standing off to the side and watching while Mr. Ollivander set about measuring and questioning Harry.

If Mr. Ollivander had expected a trial in finding the right wand he certainly found it in Harry. The first wand was quickly snatched away, and so was the next, and the next after that, and even after that one as well. The first wand that Harry actually got to hold long enough to give a proper wave shot out not sparks, but a bolt of force that richotted around the shop and pinged loudly off of his new owl’s cage. Mr. Ollivander took that wand away much more gently than the others, and went off to pull down some more boxes.

The pile of tried wands had mounted to quite an impressive height, but Mr. Ollivander only seemed to get happier and more excited as the process went on.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Harry took the wand in his right hand, where it was allowed to stay, and Violet watched a small smile appear on her brother’s face. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the air and yelped in surprised delight as a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework. Violet whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious...”

He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “ Curious... curious...”

“Sorry,” said Harry, “but  _ what’s _ curious?”

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.”

Violet felt a sudden coldness drop like a stone into her stomach.

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.”

Harry shivered visibly. He was silent as they paid for each of their wands — seven Galleons each — and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

 

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Hagrid and the twins made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road, which was so unlike him that Violet kept giving him glances out of the corner of her eye. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t seem to notice all the stares and gawking from the people on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages and animals. Up another escalator, out into Paddington Station; Harry only seemed to realize where they were when Violet tugged insistently at his sleeve.

“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,” Hagrid said.

He bought them each a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to each them. Harry kept looking around.

“What is it, Harry?” Violet finally asked, when she noticed Hagrid watching her brother as well.

Harry chewed his hamburger with a soft frown, clearly thinking about what he wanted to say.

“Everyone thinks we’re special,” he said at last. “All those people the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but we don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? We’re famous and we can’t even remember what we’re famous for. We don’t know what happened when Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night our parents died.”

“Just because we don’t know anything yet doesn’t mean we can’t learn, or won’t be special,” Violet said, picking a bit of tomato off her burger. “We’re only just starting, Harry. It’s not fair to sell yourself short.”

Hagrid leaned across the table with a chuckle. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

“Yeh’ve got a good head on yer shoulders, Violet — and yer sister’s right, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginnings at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerselves. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, ’smatter of fact.”

Hagrid helped Harry and Violet on to the train that would take them back to the Dursleys, then handed them each an envelope.

“Yer tickets fer Hogwarts,” he said. “First o’ September — King’s Cross — it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with that owl of yer’s, she’ll know where to find me... See yeh soon, kids.”

The train pulled out of the station. Violet wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, Harry doing just the same right beside her, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.


	5. The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

Violet and Harry’s last month with the Dursleys wasn’t exactly fun, but it was a vast improvement to every single month spent previously with them. Dudley was now so scared of them he wouldn’t stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t shut them in their cupboard, force them to do anything, or shout at them — in fact, they didn’t speak to the twins at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as if any space occupied by Harry or Violet was empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

The twins kept to their room, with their new pets for company. Violet’s cat was called Crookshanks by the lady in the shop, who said he’d been there for years and years because no one had wanted him. Violet didn’t care for the name and had been trying out new ones. The great ginger cat didn’t seem to care what she called him; he just sat there and stared at her, and would occasionally come over to her if she extended her hand. Mostly, he just liked to sleep on her stomach and make little  grumbly noises if she tried to move him.

Harry had named his owl Hedwig, a name he’d found in _A History of Magic_. Their school books were very interesting. While Harry was content to merely skim through them and read any interesting bits that caught his attention, Violet had already worked through several from cover to cover and taken notes along the way just like she’d been taught in primary school.

Harry had told her the rest of what the boy in the robe shop had said, and confessed to feeling stupid for not understanding a word of it. Violet didn’t like to feel stupid. She wanted to know what was going on and what it all meant, so that no one could question whether or not she belonged in the newly revealed wizarding world. Each night before they went to sleep, she would tick off another day on the piece of paper Harry had pinned to the wall, counting down to September first.

On the last day of August, the twins drew lots to decide who would go and ask Uncle Vernon for a ride to the train station the next day. Harry lost.

Violet waited anxiously at the top of the stairs, expecting lots of yelling and perhaps even the sound of something being smashed. Instead there was only quiet mumbling from below. It was a pleasant surprise then when Harry reappeared, smiling, and gave her two thumbs up.

 

Harry woke Violet up at five o’clock the next morning, too excited to contain to contain himself, and neither of them could get back to sleep. They got up and got dressed into some normal clothes — Violet talked her brother into changing on the train. She checked her Hogwarts list again to make sure they both had everything they needed, saw that Hedwig and Crookshanks — whom Violet was trying to call Frasier to no avail — tucked into their cages, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, their huge, heavy trunks had been loaded into the Dursley’s car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting in back with the twins, and they had set off.

They reached King’s Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped their trunks each onto their own cart and even wheeled Violet’s into the station for her. Violet thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

“Well, there you are, boy,” he said, look at Harry. “Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don’t seem to have built it yet, do they?”

Violet looked down at her ticket and frowned. It was printed right there, Platform 9 3/4 — but Uncle Vernon was quite right. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic ten over the one next to in, and in the middle, nothing at all.

“Aunt Petunia,” Violet said, “Where was the platform when you came with our mother?”

Aunt Petunia stared at Violet as though she’d just grown a second nose. Violet had almost never asked her aunt about their mother before, but they _were_ sisters once. And if Aunt Petunia had remembered their mother getting her Hogwarts letter all those years ago then she must have also remembered dropping off or picking her sister up from the train station.

“In between,” Aunt Petunia said, and Uncle Vernon looked at her in shock. Aunt Petunia looked quite shocked herself. “It was years ago, and I never understood — but Lil-, _she_ used to walk somewhere in the middle, and then she’d be gone. She’d never explain it to me, either, no matter how many times I asked.”

Aunt Petunia closed her mouth suddenly, her thin lips pursed into an even thinner line to the point where they nearly vanished. Uncle Vernon shook his head and took her firmly by the elbow.

“That’s enough,” he growled. “Absolutely enough of this nonsense. Get in the car, Petunia, and you two —” he squinted nastily at the twins, each one of them in turn. Whatever he had meant to say, he appeared to decide against it. Uncle Vernon let out an angry grunt and stomped off back toward the car, Aunt Petunia still firmly in his grip.

Violet put both hands on the handle of her cart and turned to Harry.

“Come on,” she said, and put on her bravest smile. “Let’s see if someone else comes along, and we can follow them.”

It didn’t take long for an opportunity to present itself. They had ten minutes before the train for Hogwarts was meant to leave when Harry spotted a family entering the station. There was a plump woman talking to four boys and leading a small girl by the hand, all with flaming red hair. The boys were each pushing a trunk like Harry’s and Violet’s in front of them, and they had an _owl._

Sticking close to one another, Violet and Harry wheeled their carts toward them and watched to see where they went. What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Violet watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it — but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of them and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

“Fred, you next,” the plump woman said.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George,” said the boy. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother.”

“Sorry, George, dear,”

“Only joking, I am Fred,” said the boy and off he went. His twin — as Violet realized with delight — called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later he had gone. But how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier — he was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere.

Violet was sure she must be missing something and turned to her brother to ask if he’d seen any different, but Harry was already walking forward with his mouth open.

“Excuse me,” Harry said to the plump woman.

“Hello, dears,” she said. “First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.”

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

“Yes,” said Harry. “The the thing is — the thing is, we don’t know how to —”

“How to get onto the platform?” the woman said kindly, and both Harry and Violet nodded.

“Not to worry,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.”

Harry looked at Violet and Violet looked at Harry, and she nodded at once for him to go ahead. He was the brave one, and if he could do it first then she would know it was alright. That was how things usually worked between them.

Harry pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

Violet watched with her eyes as wide as she could make them, not wanting to miss a single moment in case something went wrong. Harry started to walk toward the barrier, then moved more quickly until he had broken into a run toward the barrier and oh, no he wouldn’t be able to stop — the cart was out of control — he was going to crash!

Only he didn’t.

Violet blinked rapidly at the place where her brother had once been and was no longer. He had simply... _disappeared_ through the barrier. Gone in between, just like Aunt Petunia had said.

“See, dear?” said the plump woman from behind Violet, smiling encouragingly. “Nothing to it. Go on then, your turn. Ron and I will be just behind you.”

“Thank you, for helping us,” Violet said sincerely, and positioned her cart in front of the barrier. Unlike Harry, she started at a brisk pace and maintained it, heart hammering in her chest, as she drew nearer and nearer to the barrier. It looked completely impenetrable yet she had just seen her brother walk straight though unharmed. It could be done. She could do it.

And do it she did, with eyes wide open, and passed through a solid wall without feeling it at all.

The first thing she saw was Harry, standing some feet away, his face lit up with excitement and wonder. Then she saw the scarlet steam engine and the whole platform packed with people, and the sign overhead which read Hogwarts Express, eleven o’clock. They had made it.

“Can you believe it?” Harry asked, barely glancing at her as she approached, his attention so split by everything going on around them. “Look at all these people. Are they really all like us?”

“I didn’t expect so many,” said Violet, feeling suddenly nervous about the crowd. Diagon Alley had been rather busy during their visit, but this felt different somehow. Smoke drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Violet suddenly pitied Crookshanks, confined to his cage. She would be sure to let him out on the train.

The first few carries were already packed with students, some hanging out of the windows to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. The twins pushed their carts down the platform in search of empty seats. They passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.”

“Oh, _Neville,_ ” Violet heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

“Give us a look, Lee, go on.”

The boy lifted the lid of the box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Violet and Harry pressed on through the crowd until they found an empty compartment near the end of the train. They put the pets inside first and then started shoving and heaving their trunks toward the train door. Even with the two of them both lifting, they couldn’t quite get even a single trunk up the steps.

“Want a hand?” It was one of the red-headed twins they’d followed through the barrier.

“Yes, please,” Violet panted.

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

With the other twins’ help, Harry’s trunk was tucked away in a corner of the compartment shortly followed by Violet’s. By the end they were _all_ panting from the effort.

“Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“What’s that?” said one of the red-headed twins suddenly, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar.

“Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you — ?”

“He _is_ ,” said the first twin. His eyes flicked to Violet. “So _she’s_ — ?”

“What?” said Harry.

“ _The Potters,_ ” chorused the boys.

Violet felt her face getting very red. She ducked her head down, wishing her hair was untied so that it could fall and cover her face.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Er — yeah. We are.”

The two boys were gawking, and Violet hated being gawked at more than anything. To her immense relief, a voice came floating through the train’s open door.

“Fred? George? Are you there?”

“Coming, Mum.”

With a last look at Harry, the twin boys hopped off the train.

Violet hurriedly sat down on the far side of the compartment, hoping no one else would be able to see her. Harry, however, sat himself underneath the window and was trying to spy on the family.

“How could they just know us like that?” Violet asked, still mortified, but Harry only shushed her so that he could listen in on the conversation taking place outside. Violet sank down in her seat and sulked. Then she remembered the cat, and quickly got up again.

“Frasier,” she called when the door to the cage was opened. A pair of narrowed yellow eyes stared back at her from within, unblinking and unmoving. She pursed her lips and tried again. “Crookshanks? Would you like to come out?”

Slowly, and after a long moment to let her know that it was his own idea, the immense and fluffy orange form of Crookshanks emerged from his crate, and allowed himself to be lifted and placed into the seat beside Violet. He began to purr immediately when she placed a hand on his back.

Eventually, finally, the train began to move. Harry watched out the window all the while, staring back at the platform they’d just left and smiling wider than Violet had seen in ages. Houses flashed past out the window, and the subtle rocking of the train as it picked up speed filled Violet’s stomach with a gentle buzz of excitement. She didn’t know where they were going to — but it had to be better than what they were leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest red-headed boy came in.

“Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. “Everywhere else is full.”

Harry and Violet shook their heads and the boy sat down. He glanced between them and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn’t looked.

“Hey, Ron.”

The twins were back.

“Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” mumbled Ron.

“Harry, right? And Violet?” said the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.”

“Bye,” said Harry and Ron, and Violet gave a little wave. The other twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

“Are you really the Potter Twins?” Ron blurted out.

Violet’s face flushed red again as Harry nodded.

“Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes,” said Ron. “And have you really got — you know...”

He pointed to Harry’s forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

“How does everybody know about his scar?” Violet asked.

“Well — isn’t that where You-Know-Who — ?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but I can’t remember it.”

“Nothing?” Ron said eagerly.

“We were babies,” Violet said crisply, “how could we remember?”

“Oh,” said Ron. His ears went pink. “Right, sorry.” He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

“Are all your family wizards?” asked Harry, who seemed to be just as interested in Ron as Ron was in them.

“Er — yes, I think so,” said Ron. I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”

“Do you knows loads of magic already?” asked Violet, realizing what an opportunity this boy presented. Someone who had grown up in a wizarding family would be able to tell them all sorts of things that they ought to have known already, and he seemed like a nice enough boy — hopefully he wouldn’t make fun of them for asking.

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron. “What they like?”

“Horrible,” said Harry immediately. “Well, not all of them. Our aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Would’ve been nice to grow up with wizards.”

“We’ve got plenty of them in my house,” Ron grumbled. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s not big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn’t —”

Ron didn’t get to finish telling them what his family couldn’t do because at that moment, despite being calmly dozing in her lap only seconds before, Crookshanks lunged across the gap and pounced on the rat in Ron’s lap.

“Crookshanks, no!” Violet shouted, jumping up immediately to try and pull the cat away. Scabbers had woken up as well and was squeaking frantically, and Ron was hollering as Crookshanks’ claws dug into his legs trying to get at the rodent.

“Get it off! Scabbers!”

The rat managed to wriggle out of Crookshanks’ grasp and flopped to the floor, righting itself and scurrying to safety behind the stacked trunks. Crookshanks tried to chase it, but Violet caught him mid-air and wrapped both arms tightly around his middle.

“Bad cat!” she scolded, holding the wriggling orange mass against her chest. “That’s not a toy, it’s a friend! You can’t eat somebody else’s friend.”

Ron dropped to the floor and tried to coax his terrified rat out from behind the trunks — when that failed he reached a long arm between the gap and pulled Scabbers out with one hand. Crookshanks let out a low, warning yowl.

“Keep that thing away from him!” Ron squeaked, tucking Scabbers back within the safety of his pocket. Violet kept a firm hold on Crookshanks and glared at him.

“He’s a _cat,_ you can’t go pulling out mice and rats in front of him and expect him not to react to it. Are you alright?”

“Me? It’s Scabbers that I’m bloody worried about.” Ron peeped into his pocket. “You all right, mate? Did that thing get you?”

Violet was about to object to her cat being called “that thing,” but Harry broke the tension in his usual way — with a question.

“Tell us more about your family.”

Violet listened idly to Harry and Ron chatter on, trying to soothe Crookshanks and get him to go back to sleep. It was odd that he’d reacted that way to Scabbers. In the pet shop where she’d bought him there had been plenty of small birds and rodents sitting about and he hadn’t so much as glanced at any of them. Perhaps those creatures had been in the shop just as long as he had, and had grown used to each other’s company. He was in a new place now, with new people and new sights and smells — Violet couldn’t blame him for getting riled up.

“...and until Hagrid told us, we didn’t know about being wizards or about our parents or Voldemort —”

Ron gasped so loudly that Violet jumped in her seat.

“What?” said Harry.

“ _You said You-Know-Who’s name!_ ” said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. “I’d have thought  you, all of people —”

“I’m not trying to be _brave_ or anything, saying the name,” said Harry defensively, “I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn... I bet,” he added, sounding suddenly gloomy, “I bet I’m the worst in the class.”

“You won’t be,” said Ron and Violet at the same time. They looked at each other with a small smile, and Ron continued. “There’s loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.”

While they had been talking and dealing with their pets, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, “Anything off the cart, dears?”

Violet, who suddenly realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day, was grateful when Harry leapt to his feet. Ron stayed where he was, his ears gone slightly pink as he muttered that he’d brought sandwiches.

Harry went out into the corridor and returned several minutes later with an armload of the oddest assortment of candies and treats that Violet had ever seen. He dumped it all into the seat between them — a pile of brightly colored wrappers for Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Pumpkin Pasties, Licorice Wands, Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Violet had no idea what any of it was, and she planned to try all of it.

“Hungry, are you?” Ron asked as the twins each grabbed a pack at random and tore into it.

“Starving,” they said in unison. Harry took a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty, and Violet had a mouthful of something called a Cauldron Cake.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, “She always forgets I don’t like corned beef.”

“Swap you for one of these,” said Violet, holding up a pasty. “Go on —”

“You don’t want this,” it’s all dry,” said Ron. “She hasn’t got much time,” he added quickly, “you know, with five of us.”

“Our aunt always had plenty of time to do what she liked,” Violet said, chucking a pasty to Ron before he could try to turn it down again, “mostly because she makes Harry and I do all the work, though. I don’t think she’s ever made either of us a sandwich before.”

Ron’s mouth hung open as he processed that, but he closed it without saying anything more. He unwrapped the pasty and ate it graciously, along with everything else Harry and Violet passed him.

“What are these?” Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. “They’re not _really_ frogs, are they?”

“No,” said Ron. “But see what the card is. I’m missing Agrippa.”

“What?”

“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know — Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I’ve got about five hundred, but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.”

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. Violet leaned over to read it, too. It showed a man’s face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture with the name Albus Dumbledore.

“So _this_ is Dumbledore!” said Violet.

“Don’t tell me you’d never heard of Dumbledore!” said Ron. “Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa — thanks —”

When Harry had finished looking over his card he handed it over to Violet who read:

 

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

 

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindlewald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

 

Violet turned the card back over and saw, to her astonishment, that Dumbledore’s face had disappeared.

“He’s gone!”

“Well, you can’t expect him to hang around all day,” said Ron. “He’ll be back. No, I’ve got Morgana again and I’ve got about six of her... do either of you want it? You could start collecting.”

Ron’s eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

“Help yourself,” said Harry. “But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos.”

“Do they? What, they don’t move at all?” Ron sounded amazed. “ _Weird!_ ”

Violet stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave her a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry and Violet couldn’t keep their eyes of them. They passed each card back and forth as they unwrapped them, and soon they had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcrast, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. Violet finally tore her eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“You want to be careful with those,” Ron warned Violet. “When they say every flavor, they _mean_ every flavor — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he got a bogie-flavoured one once.”

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

“Bleaaargh — see? Sprouts.”

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Violet got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, and sardine, and even managed to dare Harry into nibbling the end of a funny gray one that Ron wouldn’t touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there there woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy the twins had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

When they all shook their heads, he wailed, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“He’ll turn up,” said Harry kindly.

“Yes,” said the boy miserably. “Well, if you see him...”

“Would you like help looking for him?” Violet asked, already getting to her feet. The boy’s face went bright pink.

“O-oh, I mean — you don’t have to —”

“We can cover more ground together,” said Violet, smiling encouragingly at the boy as she joined him in the hall. “Where have you looked already?”

“The last four compartments,” the boy said, looking mournfully down the train car. “Nobody’s seen him, even as big as he is. You really don’t have to — there’s another girl helping me look, she went off that way —”

The boy hadn’t so much raised his arm to point when the compartment next door slid open and another young girl stepped out into the hall. She had bushy brown hair, a very determined expression, and rather large front teeth. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

“He hasn’t come this way, Neville,” she said, and then stopped at the sight of Violet. “Oh, hello. Are you helping to look for Trevor as well? We’ve been going up and down the car asking everyone if they’ve seen a toad and they’ve all said no, but I would think that someone _must_ have seen him coming hopping along down here, though I don’t know why they wouldn’t say anything about it. Not very helpful, if you ask me. I’m happy to meet someone else willing to lend a hand — I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

She said all this very fast.

“Violet Potter,” Violet said, and stuck out her hand politely. Hermione Granger’s eyes went wide.

“Are you really? I know all about you, and your brother, of course — I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ ”

“Are we?” said Violet.

“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” said Hermione. “Do you know what House you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad... Anyway, we’d better get back to looking to Neville’s toad. You should double back and see if it’s come through and we can keep looking at this end of the car.”

And then she turned around and left, and the toadless boy wordlessly followed behind her. Violet was left alone in the corridor, swaying slightly with the momentum of the train and feeling very dazed.

Suddenly she no longer felt comfortable wandering the train, popping in on people and introducing herself. Ron knew about Harry’s scar before he’d even seen it. If her name and story were in history books that anyone could just pick up and read, then what might people know about her? More than she knew about herself, apparently.

Making sure that Neville and Hermione were out of sight, Violet opened the door to her compartment and quietly slipped back inside.

“Did you find the toad?” Ron asked through a mouthful of bright pink chewing gum.

“No,” Violet said, maneuvering Crookshanks out of her seat, “but he’s already got another girl helping him. I think they’ll manage.”

Ron grunted through his gum. Harry was busy squinting at the list on the back of the Bertie Bott’s box.

“What Houses are your brothers in?” asked Violet, suddenly curious.

“Gryffindor,” said Ron. Gloom seemed to settle over him again. “All of them. Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not.”

“Are families always in the same house?” Harry said. Ron shook his head.

“Not always — there’s some wizarding families that make their houses a point of pride, but there’s plenty that are just happy they got their letters at all, you know? I’ve got a few relatives that were in Hufflepuff, I think, and Dad’s mum was in Ravenclaw. Can’t imagine anyone in my family being in Slytherin, though. Imagine if they put _me_ in there.”

“That’s the House Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

“What do your oldest brother’s do now that they’ve left Hogwarts, anyway?” Violet asked, trying to take Ron’s mind off Houses. She regretted having brought it up at all.

“Charlie’s in Romania studying dragons, and Bill’s in Africa doing something for Gringotts,” said Ron. “Did you hear about Gringotts? It’s been all over the _Daily Prophet_ , but I don’t suppose you get that with the muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault.”

Violet and Harry stared.

“Really?” she said. “What happened to them?”

“Nothing, that’s why it’s such big news. They haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything, that’s what’s odd. ’Course, everyone gets scared with something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it.”

Violet turned this news over in her mind. She was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. She supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable listening to Harry say “Voldemort” without worrying.

“What’s your Quidditch team?” Ron asked.

“Er — we don’t know any,” Harry confessed.

“What!” Ron looked dumbfounded. “Oh, you wait, it’s the best game in the world —” And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he’d been to with his brothers and the broomstick he’d like to get if he had the money. He was just talking them through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open again, but it wasn’t Neville the toadless boy, or even Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Violet recognized the middle one at once: It was the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shopped. He was looking between the twins with a lot more interest than he’d shown in Diagon Alley.

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that the Potters are in this compartment. So it’s you two, is it?”

“Yes,” said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” said the pale boy carelessly, evidently noticing where Harry was looking. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

“Think my name’s funny, you do? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

He turned back to the twins. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thank you,” he said coolly.

“You’re even worse at making friends than I thought,” Violet sneered. “And didn’t I tell you to leave us alone?”

Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

“I’d be careful if I were you two,” he said slowly. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

Both Harry and Ron stood up. Violet grabbed her brother’s sleeve, but didn’t take her eyes off of Draco Malfoy.

“Get out,” she said, more bravely than she felt. There was a funny rattling sound coming from the wall of the compartment. “Now!”

Violet felt a sudden force in the middle of her chest like a thunderclap, and Draco Malfoy staggered backward as an invisible gust of wind seemed to batter against him and the other, larger boys. He stared at her with wide, hate-filled eyes.

“How dare you —”

“I said get _out!”_

Another clap of force seemed to follow her voice, and then all three of the boys were pushed backward out into the corridor. The compartment door slammed shut in their faces. Violet glared through the glass until they hurried away, back down to wherever they had come from. Perhaps it was Violet’s gaze that drove them off, or perhaps that heard footsteps because a moment later, Hermione Granger came in.

“What _has_ been going on?” she said, looking at the two boys on their feet and everyone’s wind-tousled hair.

“Blimey,” said Ron, and Violet realized he was staring at her. “How did you _do_ that?”

Violet blinked at him.

“I don’t know. I just wanted him to leave.”

“Were you doing magic?” Hermione asked, sounding very disapproving. “You’’ll get in trouble before we even get there.” Violet shook her head helplessly.

“No — I mean, I didn’t mean to. I just though if I could get them out the door —”

“She didn’t use a wand,” Ron said, still staring. “I used to do little bits of magic when I was a kid, but never anything like that. Have you ever done it before?”

Violet was blushing now, with all the attention on her. She remembered the glass enclosure at the museum, and a time where Dudley had tried to grab her only to let go yelping in pain, but she didn’t feel like mentioning any of that with everyone looking at her so intently.

“I’m just glad they’re gone,” Harry said loudly, coming to her rescue. He sat back down and grabbed her hand.

“You’ve met Malfoy before?” Ron asked.

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

“I’ve heard of his family,” Ron said darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He turned to Hermione. “Sorry, but who are you?”

“Hermione Granger,” Violet said before Hermione herself could answer. “I met her in the corridor earlier, she was helping look for the toad.”

“So then you’re Harry Potter?” Hermione said, her attention now on Harry. She stuck out her hand, and he shook it dumbly. “I’ve read all about you, too. And you are?”

She swiveled in place and put her hand out toward a very startled Ron.

“Er — Ron Weasley.”

“Pleasure. You’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?” She turned to the compartment at large. “You’d all better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we’re nearly there. I’m ever so excited.”

“Would you mind leaving while we change?” Ron said, scowling at her as he rubbed furiously at the side of his nose.

“All right, “ said Hermione in a sniffy voice. “I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors.”

Ron glared at her as she left. Violet peered out of the window. It was getting dark. She could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

The boys took off their jackets and Violet unbuttoned her sweater, and they all pulled on their long black robes. Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Violet’s stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, she saw, looked pale under his freckles. She and Harry shared a look between them, each seeking reassurance from the other. They all crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd throning in the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Violet shivered in the cold night air. She wished she’d left her sweater on. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Violet heard a familiar voice: “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, you two?”

Hagrid’s big hair face beamed over the sea of heads.

“C’mon, follow me — any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Violet though there must be thick trees there. She and Harry held tight to one another’s hands. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

There was a loud “Oooooh!”

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, with a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Violet, Ron and Harry were followed into their boat by Hermione, while a mournful Neville was left looking about for an empty seat.

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then — FORWARD!”

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

“Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

“Trevor!” cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	6. The Sorting Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Violet’s first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys’ house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Violet could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

“The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. Harry was trying to flatten his hair.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber. Violet swallowed.

“How exactly do they sort us into Houses,” she whispered to Ron.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.

Violet’s heart gave a terrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But she didn’t know any magic yet — what on earth would she have to do? She hadn’t expected something like this the moment they arrived. She looked around anxiously and saw everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she’d learned and wondering which one she’d need. Violet tried hard not to listen to her. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead her to her doom.

Then something happened that made her jump about a foot in the air — several people behind her screamed.

“What the — ?”

She gasped. So did the people around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s really not even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?”

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

“New students!” sat the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?”

A few people nodded mutely.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar. “My old House, you know.”

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years, “and follow me.”

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Violet got into line behind Harry, with Ron behind her, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Violet had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like spotlights fixed on them from each and every angle. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Violet looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard Hermione whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in  _ Hogwarts, A History _ .”

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open on to the heavens.

Violet quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard’s hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have let it in the house.

_ Maybe we have to try and get a rabbit out of it, _ Violet thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing — noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing.

 

_ “Oh, you may not think I’m pretty, _

_ But don’t judge on what you see, _

_ I’ll eat myself if you can find _

_ A smarter hat than me. _

_ You can keep your bowlers blac, _

_ Your top hats sleek and tall, _

_ For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_ And I can cap them all. _

_ There’s nothing hidden in your head _

_ The Sorting Hat can’t see, _

_ So try me on and I will tell you _

_ Where you ought to be. _

_ You might belong in Gryffindor, _

_ Where dwell the brave at hearts, _

_ Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_ Set Gryffindors apart; _

_ You might belong in Hufflepluff, _

_ Where they are just an loyal, _

_ Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_ And unafraid of toil; _

_ Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, _

_ If you’ve a ready mind, _

_ Where those of wit and learning, _

_ Will always find their kind; _

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin _

_ You’ll make your real friends, _

_ Those cunning folk use any means _

_ To achieve their ends. _

_ So put me on! Don’t be afraid! _

_ And don’t get in a flap! _

_ You’re in safe hands (though I have none) _

_ For I’m a Thinking Cap!” _

 

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whispered from behind her. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Violet smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but she did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Violet didn’t feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who wanted to crawl into a hole and be forgotten, that would have been the one for her.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long parchment.

“When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, sat down, and put on the hat which fell right down over her eyes. A moment’s pause —

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Violet saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily to her.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The second table from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Violet could see Ron’s twin brothers catcalling.

“Bullstrode, Millicent” then became a Slytherin. The cheering at this table was more subdued, but Millicent was greeted by a sea of smiles.

Violet was starting to feel definitely sick now. She remembered being for teams during gym at their old school. She and Harry had always been the last ones to be chosen, not because they were no good, because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

“Finch-Fletchly, Justin!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Sometimes, Violet noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. “Finnigan, Seamus,” the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Violet, as horrible thoughts always do when you’re very nervous. What if she wasn’t chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat over her eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and said there had obviously been a mistake and she’d better get back on the train? Or worse — what if she and Harry were separated? Would they be allowed to speak to each if they were put into different Houses? Could they asked to be switched, so they didn’t have to be apart?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted “GRYFFINDOR,” Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to “MacDougal, Morag.”

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called, and the hat had barely touched his blonde hair when it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren’t many people left now.

“Moon”..., “Nott”..., “Parkinson”..., then a pair of twin girls, “Patil” and “Patil”..., then “Perks, Sally-Anne”... and then —

“Potter, Harry!”

Harry tried to take a step forward but couldn’t, and Violet realized she was holding on to the back of his robes. She let go at once, and watched as he brother stepped forward. Whispers had suddenly broken out like hissing fires all over the hall.

“ _ Potter _ , did she say?”

“ _ The _ Harry Potter?”

The other remaining first years were looking at her now, too. She could feel the eyes on her from all directions, full of wonder and curiosity and suspicion. Harry’s face was half covered by the enormous old hat so Violet couldn’t look to him for comfort. Ron, beside her now, nudged her gently with his elbow in what might have been an accident, or perhaps a kind gesture. It grounded her, slightly, and she kept her eyes fixed on Harry, waiting —

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted.

The loudest cheer yet erupted from the Gryffindor table as Harry walked shakily toward it, trying to find Violet’s gaze in the crowd before sitting down. He waved, even as an older boy grabbed his other hand and shook it vigorously, and smiled back encouragingly at her.

“Potter, Violet!” called Professor McGonagall. Violet snapped to attention.

“It’s the other one!” she heard whispered as she took the few short steps up to the stool.

The last thing Violet saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She waited.

“Oh, dear,” said the a small voice in her ear. “Aren’t we a loyal one? You seek comfort and familiarity — but there’s a thirst for knowledge there as well, and something _ else. _ Such strength, in one so young. A pity your mind is made up, when there is a much more rewarding path waiting for you.”

Violet frowned, her heart hammering in her chest. What was that supposed to mean? How could any path be rewarding if she had to walk it without Harry?

“He’ll never be far from you,” said the small voice, making her jump. “Your hearts are closer than most, and I sense not even the greatest of forces could pull you apart without effort. But you are destined to struggle, child. There is greatness bubbling within you, and I can see only one place able to bring forth the potential to help you grow — remember this; separate paths need not lead to different places. You’ll find your way in SLYTHERIN!”

Violet heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. She took off the hat and stood in shock, trying to remember which table belonged to Slytherin. It was then that she realized no one was clapping. No one was cheering. A see of open faces stared up at her, looking just as shaken up as she felt.

And then, like a dull roar, the second table from the right began to clap and call out to her.

Violet wandered dumbly toward the now wildly cheering table. She looked across the hall toward Harry and found him staring at her, mouth hanging open — she waved weakly. Finding herself a seat was not difficult; space was made immediately as she approached, and a it seemed like everybody around wanted to shake her hand or pat her on the back. A swirl of names were whispered at her as people introduced themselves, and Violet retained none of it.

Draco Malfoy sat on the opposite side of the table from her, a little ways down, and was openly staring at her with disbelief all over his pale face. Violet did not smile at him, and looked away to shake the hand of an older girl to her left.

She could see the High Table properly now. At the end farthest from her sat Hagrid, who caught her eye and gave her a tentative thumbs up. Violet smiled back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Violet recognized him at once from the card they’d gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore’s silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall than shone as brightly as the ghosts. Violet spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar now in a large purple turban.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted.”Thomas, Dean,” a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. “Turpin, Lisa,” became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron’s turn. He was pale green by now. Violet crossed her fingers for him under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” Next, “Zabini, Blaise,” was made a Slytherin, and came to sit a few places away from Violet. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the sorting hat away.

Violet looked down at her empty gold plate. She had only just realized how hungry she was. The pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Violet didn’t know whether to laugh or not. She looked around for a friendly looking face to ask, and her mouth fell open.

The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, radishes, turnips, gravy, mustard, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never outright starved Harry and Violet, but they had never been allowed to eat as much as they liked. Dudley had always taken anything they really wanted, even if it made him sick. Violet piled her plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious. She had just stuffed a large bite of roast beef into her mouth when she felt a tapping on her shoulder.

“”You’re the Potter girl, aren’t you?”

The speaker was a rather chubby Black girl that had been Sorted near the beginning of the ceremony. She was leaning behind the boy next to Violet, smiling at her. Violet nodded meekly.

“I heard some of the others talking about you on the train — you were raised by Muggles, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Violet, immediately tense. She caught a few curious glances thrown in her direction, but no one else would meet her eye. The other girl seemed to notice her discomfort.

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” she said quickly. “I’m a Half-blood myself actually — my mother was a witch, but she died when I was young, and my dad brought me up himself, only he’s a Muggle, I suppose — sorry, I forgot I’m supposed to introduce myself. I’m Tracey Davis.”

She put out her hand expectantly, and Violet shook it on reflex. She didn’t know what being “Half-blood” meant, but was pleased to hear that she wasn’t the only one at the table who grew up in the Muggle world.

“I’m Violet,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, too!” said Tracey brightly. When her smile widened, the metal braces on her teeth became visible. “I was so nervous on the train, you know, not knowing what to expect. My dad told me as much as he knew about magic and all, but it never really made sense until I got my letter. Were you excited?”

“Nervous, more like,” Violet said, letting herself relax a little bit. “We didn’t know anything about magic or Hogwarts or wizards until Hagrid gave us our letters. It was all very sudden.”

“Is that the great big man up at the table?” asked Tracey, and Violet nodded. “So he’s not scary then, is he? He does look a bit frightening.”

“He’s not scary all, he’s very kind. He helped us buy all our school supplies.”

“ _ He _ did? What about your par-” Tracey quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, looking mortified. “Oh — right, sorry, I didn’t mean — I’m still learning all the history, but I heard about-”

“It’s all right,” said Violet. “I’m sorry about your mother... what does your father do?”

“Oh, he’s a sales manager!” said Tracey, brightening up immediately. “He works at a marketing firm in Bristol. He’s wonderful, really, and he was so happy for me to go to Hogwarts like my Mum did. When I get back I’ve promised to tell him  _ everything _ I’ve learned about magic!”

“Not that it’s any of his business,” said a voice from down the table. Violet looked up and saw that Malfoy was watching them, and had been listening to every word she and Tracey had said. He was sneering. The expression didn’t do any favors for his pointed, rodent-like face in Violet’s opinion. “I can’t believe that sort of thing is even  _ allowed. _ ”

“Sorry?” said Tracey, looking round at Malfoy. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I should hope not,” Malfoy said nastily, and the two big boys seated on either side of him — the same boys who were with him on the train — chuckled stupidly.

“You don’t think I should tell my dad what I learn at school?” Tracey asked. Malfoy’s sneer disappeared, replaced with a much uglier expression.

“I don’t think  _ you _ should be allowed to learn at this school,” he said. “It’s bad enough your mother went and married a Muggle, she didn’t need to put any more filth back into our world. Remember what I told you, Potter, about making friends with the wrong sort?”

Violet glared daggers at Malfoy. 

“The only wrong sort I’m seeing here is  _ you _ , Malfoy.”

“I’m worth more than you’ll ever be, Potter,” Malfoy snarled, his cheeks slightly pink. “Unlike you and your brother I come from a family who knows the value of their bloodline — my father’s father’s father was advisor to the Minister of Magic while your’s was probably wearing rags out in the middle of a forest. My mother’s line can trace itself back to dozens of the greatest wizarding families in Europe. Your mother was nothing but a filthy Muggle.”

“And you think that makes you better than her?” rang a new voice from Violet’s left. She turned and found the girl beside her — the same older girl that had shaken her hand when she sat down — staring intently at Malfoy. Violet realized suddenly how quiet their section of the table had become. Chatter and conversation buzzed all around them, but it was as though they were all within a bubble of silence.

“I asked you a question, boy,” said the older girl. Draco was flushed even more pink, but there was still anger in his narrowed eyes.

“Of course it makes me better than her. Not that being better than her is  _ hard. _ ”

“That’s an ugly little attitude you’ve got there,” said the girl, looking at Malfoy down her rather long nose, “and quite the mouth for a first year.”

“And who are you then, telling me how I should talk?”

“I’m Gemma Farley,” the girl said. “I’m one of your House prefects — and I suggest you learn to mind your manners toward your fellow Housemates, otherwise Professor Snape will want to have a word with whoever’s responsible for losing Slytherin points before the feast has even ended.”

Malfoy paled slightly.

“You can’t threaten me. I’ll tell my father.”

“Said your name’s Malfoy, isn’t it? I’ve heard a few things about your father,” said Gemma coolly. “I wouldn’t be in such a rush to tell him you’ve been making an arse of yourself on your very first day at school, if I were you.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. A few of the older students chuckled along the table. Gemma kept her eyes on Malfoy as she took a large bit of roast chicken, and snorted when he was the first to angrily look away.

“Potter — Davis —” she said through a mouthful of chicken, and both Violet and Tracey snapped their gazes toward her. She gave them both a thumbs up, and swallowed. “Welcome to Slytherin. We’re very glad to have you here. If that little shite gives you any more trouble, you come to me, yeah?”

Tracey and Violet giggled and nodded. Malfoy was no longer looking at them, only muttering to Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom would grunt stupidly every few seconds. Violet was feeling much better about being placed into Slytherin, even if it did mean being away from Harry. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she would be able to make herself some friends.

“Who was that you mentioned earlier?” she asked Gemma, who gave her a blank look. “The professor who wouldn’t be happy about losing points.”

“Oh, right — Professor Snape,” Gemma said, gesturing toward the High Table. “In the middle there, near Dumbledore. He’s Head of Slytherin House. He teaches Potions as well, so read up if you want to get in his good graces tomorrow — and trust me, you  _ want _ to be in his good graces.”

Violet looked up to where Gemma had pointed and saw a man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. He was talking to Professor Quirrell, who was practically shrinking away from him.

“Is he very cross?” Tracey asked timidly. “He does look awfully cross...”

“”He’s not so bad,” said a new voice; the boy who was sitting between Tracey and Violet lifted his head with a small smirk. “At least, not to us. Best keep your head down, though, at least for a while. If you’re an idiot he’ll tear you pieces, and if he thinks you’re smart enough to be worth teaching he’ll push you so hard you’ll  _ wish _ he thought you were stupid.”

“Don’t scare them off, Warrington,” Gemma said, this time reaching for a gravy boat. She leaned in toward Violet conspiratorially. “Snape can smell fear, ya know. At least, I wouldn’t put it past him, with a nose like that one.”

Violet snuck another glance at Professor Snape. She didn’t  _ really _ believe that he could smell fear, but, just on the side of caution, she would do her best to be brave around him.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors

“Quidditch trials  will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

A few briefs laugh rang out across the hall, but were quickly silenced. Dumbledore did not appear to be joking.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Violet noticed that other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long gold ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

“Everyone pick their favourite tune,”said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

And the school bellowed:

 

_ “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts _

_ Teach us something please, _

_ Whether we be old and bald _

_ Or young with scabby knees, _

_ Our heads could do with filling _

_ With some interesting stuff, _

_ For now they’re bare and full of air, _

_ Dead flies and bits of fluff, _

_ So teach us things worth knowing, _

_ Bring back what we’ve forgot, _

_ Just do your best, we’ll do the rest, _

_ And learn till our brains all rot.” _

 

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were lift singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The Slytherin first years followed Gemma through the chattering crowds and back out into the great hall. Violet fought to find Harry among the sea of heads, but the pair of them only managed a brief smile and wave before they were swept off in separate directions. Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindors up the grand marble staircase, while Violet followed her classmates through a corridor off the left side of the Great Hall and began the descent down a long, long set of stairs. The walls of the corridor were lit with flickering torches, and the sound of dozens of little footsteps bounced loudly off the dark stone walls. They passed several doors on either side of them, but were led silently deeper in what looked to be some sort of dungeon.

Finally, just as Violet was starting to feel nervous again, Gemma stopped them all in the middle of an empty stretch of hallway.

“Meliora,” said Gemma, to what appeared to be a blank stretch of all. Only suddenly it wasn’t a wall at all — a great stone door had swung inward, revealing a large  room beyond. They all scrambled inside and found themselves in the Slytherin common room. It was a long, low room lit with greenish lamps and furnished with dark chairs and sofas. A large section of the back wall appeared to be made entirely of glass, and Violet could see dark shapes swaying on the other side.

Gemma directed the boys through one door to their dormitory and the girls through another. Down another stone staircase they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep green, silk curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

“I’m so excited for classes tomorrow, I don’t know if I can sleep,” said Tracey through the hangings, sounding like she was nearly asleep already.

Violet was going to ask Tracey which class she was most excited about, but she fell asleep almost at once. It was the first time in her life that she had slept in her very own bed without another body beside her. It was a restless, uneven sleep — she kept waking up in a panic because Harry wasn’t next to her — but eventually Violet drifted into a deep slumber and did not wake again until the next morning.


	7. The Potions Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

“There, look.

“Where?”

“Next to the girl with all the hair.”

“The short one?”

“Did you see her face?”

“Have you seen her twin?”

Whispers followed Violet from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her in the corridor again, staring. Violet desperately wished they wouldn’t; aside from making her want to cry, they were also making it hard for her to find the way to her classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases and Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right spot, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Violet was sure the coats of armour could talk.

The ghosts didn’t help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. The Slytherin ghost was called the Bloody Baron and everyone warned that he should be left alone, unless one was absolutely desperate. Desperation could come in the form of being lost for hours, or it could come in the form of Peeves.

Peeves was a Poltergeist in the form of a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth, and woe betide anyone who came across him in their hour of need. Peeves was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, grab your nose, and screech, “GOT YOUR CONK.”

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. He was a stooped, elderly man who appeared to be perpetually furious, and whose only joy in the world was catching students doing something wrong and threatening to lock them in the dungeons until they rot. Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch’s. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she’d whish off for Filch, who’d appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you have managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Violet quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday night at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

One of the easiest classes for Violet was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on, while all the students had to do was write scribble down names and dates, and try not to confuse Emeric the Evil with Uric the Oddball.

Professor Flitwick, the Charm’s teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Violet’s name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Violet had been quite right to think she wasn’t a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and will not come back. You have been warned.”

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn’t wait to get started, but soon realized they weren’t going to be changing furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, and much to her own surprise, only Violet had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Violet a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, they weren’t quite sure they believed this story. For one thing, when a boy called Theodore Nott asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Violet was very relieved so find out she wasn’t miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like her, hadn’t any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Malfoy didn’t have much of a head start.

Malfoy was another problem.

He and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, liked to set up in the common room for hours at a time, hogging the best chairs and the closest seats to the fireplace. They talked too loud for anyone to focus around them, and jeered at anyone brave enough to ask them to be quiet. Even warnings from prefects and other older students did little to tell them off — after a while they would be back at it again. As such, Violet had spent very little time in the common room so far. Things were quieter in the dormitory.

The absolute hardest thing about school so far was being apart from Harry.

Violet and her twin had never spent more than a few hours apart for the entire duration of their lives before coming to Hogwarts — now, they were lucky to have even a few minutes of time to spend with one another. They were lucky enough to share a few classes with each other’s Houses. That morning they were set for double Potions with the Gryffindors, which Violet had been assured would be a treat.

“Everyone keeps saying that Snape favours us, since he’s our Head of House,” Tracey was saying as she spread marmalade on her toast, “and that he’s got some sort of grudge against Gryffindors — we’ll be able to see if it’s true.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” said Violet, frowning. Harry was a Gryffindor, after all. Would Professor Snape treat them differently because of that?

Jus then, the mail arrived. Violet had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages into their laps.

Sometimes she would see Hedwig fly in with all the others and stop by to nibble toast from Harry’s hand, but so far she hadn’t brought him anything. Violet didn’t even notice her this morning, she was so busy fretting about their first Potions lesson.

“Vi, guess what?”

Violet whirled around in her seat at the sound of Harry’s voice behind her, walking between the tables with a piece of paper in his hand.

“Morning, Harry!”

She quickly scooted over so that her brother could sit beside her, thrusting the paper into her face as he did so.

“Look what Hedwig brought me this morning,” Harry said excitedly. “D’you want to go?”

Violet quickly skimmed the letter. It was written in recognizable, very untidy scrawl:

 

Dear Harry + Violet,

I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

 

“That sounds lovely,” she said excitedly. “Please tell him I’ll be there! We can all catch up, and I can tell you about Transfiguration class yesterday.”

Violet was about to send Harry to write his reply when, beside her, Tracey loudly cleared her throat.

“Oh, er — Harry, this is Tracey Davis. She’s — she’s my friend.”

Violet quickly looked at Tracey to confirm that they were, in fact, friends, and that she hadn’t been misinterpreting the last five days of politeness and interaction. But Tracey wasn’t even looking at her. She had already stuck her hand out for Harry to shake, staring blatantly at his forehead all the while.

“Pleased to meet you, Harry Potter,” said said, her voice higher than usual. Harry’s ears were looking a little pink.

“Nice to meet you, too, Tracey. Er — I think I should go tell Hagrid we’ll be coming, before Hedwig flies off again. See you at three!”

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons, on the other side of the hall from the Slytherin common room. It was colder here than in the main castle, and the atmosphere was not brightened by the pickled animals floating in glass jars around the walls.

As it was their only shared class together, Violet and Harry took their seats next to one another with apologies to their usual friend — Ron and Harry were already inseparable, and Tracey Davis had become a fast friend to Violet ever since their meeting at the feast. It was good, though, for brother and sister to be side by side again — even if what came next was not so good at all.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at the name “Potter.”

“Ah,  _ yes, _ ” he said softly. “The Potter Twins. Our new —  _ celebrities. _ ”

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid’s, but they had none of Hagrid’s warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making, “ he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you are as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Violet exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Violet very much wanted to show that she wasn’t a dunderhead.

“Mr. Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Violet’s mind immediately cast back to the books she’d read and the notes she’d taken over the summer.  _ Asphodel and wormwood, asphodel and wormwood... that was something important, wasn’t it? _

Harry’s brow was furrowed in the way it often was when he had no idea of the answer to a question; Hermione Granger’s had shot into the air.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer.

“Tut, tut — fame clearly isn’t everything.”

He ignored Hermione’s hand.

“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without leaving her seat. Violet, too, lifted her hand this time, just barely off the desk. Snape’s black eyes flickered toward her for a moment, but he seemed oddly focused on Harry. Harry, who could only shake his head.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?”

That wasn’t fair at  _ all, _ Violet thought angrily. Harry had read through all of the required books over the summer, just like she had. Did Snape expect them to remember every single thing in  _ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _ ?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione’s quivering hand.

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Violet raised her hand higher. Hermione, not to be outdone, stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

“I don’t know,” said Harry quietly. “I think the girls do, though, why don’t you try them?”

A few people laughed. Snape, however, was not pleased.

“Sit down,” he snapped at Hermione. Then, he finally turned his attention on Violet, and she felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. There was something very cold behind his eyes. It made her regret putting her hand up at all.

“ _ Miss _ Potter,” Snape said sharply. “Same questions.”

Violet swallowed. She had to fight herself to keep looking him in the eye.

“Asphodel and wormwood together make — they make a sleeping potion, I think. And a bezoar isn’t a plant at all, it comes from an animal, but I — I can’t remember which. But the question about monkshood and wolfsbane was a trick, wasn’t it? I thought they were the same thing, sir.”

The class had gone silent. Snape was still looking intently at Violet, but she had watched his expression shift as she spoke; one eyebrow had slightly raised, and even some of that terrible coldness had gone out of his eyes.

“Very good, Miss Potter,” Snape said quietly. “Fortunately, at least one of you appears to be worth teaching. A point to Slytherin.”

An excited murmur rippled through the room from the other Slytherin students, but they all quickly fell quiet again.

“The sleeping potion you are thinking of is one of the most powerful in the world, and is also known as the Draught of Living Death,” said Snape, raising his voice more than before. “A bezoar does indeed come from an animal — it is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. You are also correct regarding monkshood and wolfsbane. They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Mr. Potter.”

For the rest of the lesson, Snape put them all into pairs and set them mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone. It was the Gryffindors that took the brunt of his ire, however — Tracey’s prediction that he would favour his own House looked to be true. In particular, Snape paid special care to Draco Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs — even though Violet’s looked exactly the same as his. Violet was in the process of rolling her eyes when she happened to glance at the table beside hers and Harry’s. Ron was paired up with Neville Longbottom, and Neville had just picked something up from the table while Ron wasn’t looking. He squinted up at Snape’s notes on the blackboard, look back at the thing in his hands, and shrugged. He raised his hand to drop it into the cauldron.

“Wait!” Violet reached across and grabbed the sleeve of his robe, yanking his arm away before he could open his fingers. “Are you trying to blow yourself up?”

Neville, whose face had turned a deep red, was staring at her along with half of the class. Footsteps approached from across the room and Violet released Neville’s sleeve just as Professor Snape appeared behind her, frowning.

“What is the meaning of this interruption, Miss Potter?”

Violet swallowed hard. Snape practically towered over her, and from this angle she could see clear up his hooked nose.

“Sorry, sir,” she said quickly. “Neville was about to add his porcupine quills too early.”

Snape looked into Ron and Neville’s cauldron.

“At this stage, adding the quills is the next step in brewing this potion. Clearly you haven’t read the instructions on the board.”

“But I  _ have, _ sir!” said Violet boldly, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks. She pointed at the scrawls written in chalk at the front of the room. “You said, “Before adding porcupine quills, cauldron must be removed from fire and allowed to cool.” The fire is still burning right now.”

And so it was. Neville looked down at their cauldron and then at his own hand, still clenching the porcupine quills in his fist. Then he looked back up at Snape, who was sneering at him, and paled.

“S-sorry,” he stammered, tucking his hand quickly behind his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t — didn’t see it.”

“Idiot boy,” snarled Snape. “You’ve no idea how lucky you are Miss Potter took it upon herself to meddle in your assignment. Another point from Gryffindor, for your woeful negligence. Potter — next time, let him figure it out himself. The lesson should stick better after a trip to the hospital wing. A point to Slytherin House.”

“Yes, sir,” Violet mumbled. When Snape had gone back to making his rounds, Neville caught her eye and mouthed “thank you.”

As they climbed the stone steps of the dungeon an hour later, Violet’s mind was racing and her spirits were high. She’d earned six whole points for Slytherin in her very first week, and hopefully managed to follow the advice she’d been given about getting on Snape’s good side.

“That was brilliant of you!” Tracey said brightly, grabbing onto Violet’s arm in excitement. “I can’t believe you knew all that from the book, and saved that boy from hurting himself! Next class your brother is out of luck, because you’re sitting next to  _ me _ from now on. Oh, and can I come and meet Hagrid with you?”

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. Ron and Harry were already waiting for them.

When Violet knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying, “ _ Back, _ Fang —  _ back _ .”

Hagrid’s big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

“Hang on,” he said. “ _ Back _ , Fang.”

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

“This is Tracey,” Violet said, noticing the way Tracey was staring, wide-eyed at Hagrid’s massive form. Hagrid extended a hand with a smile, and Tracey’s round face lit up with wonder as she placed her comparatively tiny hand into his.

“Pleasure to meet yeh, Miss Tracey.” His expression shifted slightly as he let go, ambling over to the crackling fireplace in two giant strides. “Got ter say now, Violet, it was a shock hearin’ that hat put yeh into Slytherin. Nasty folks there — some of ‘em. It’s good ter see yeh makin’ yerself some friends. Speakin’ of — has that one got a name?”

“This is Ron,” Harry told Hagrid, who was now pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

“Another Weasley, eg?” said Hagrid, glancing at Ron’s freckles. “I spend half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest.”

The rock cakes were shapeless mups with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but they all pretended to be enjoying them as they went around the table, telling Hagrid about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry’s knee and drooled all over his robes.

All four of them were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.”

“An as fer’ that cat, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I got up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her — Filch puts her up to it.”

Violet and Harry took turns telling about Snape’s lesson. While Violet felt fairly satisfied with herself after earning two House points in one lesson, Harry had a distinctly different opinion on the class. He seemed to think that Professor Snape didn’t like him very much. Hagrid told that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

“He looked to be getting along with Malfoy just fine,” Tracey muttered into her tea.

“Has that little twerp been givin’ you any more trouble?” Hagrid asked. Both twins shook their heads.

“They bother everyone,” said Violet, “but he hasn’t tried to pick on me anymore. I still don’t think he likes me much, after I told him off on the train.”

“You did more to him than that!” Ron exclaimed, grinning. “You nearly blew him out the window!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Violet said, blushing. Ron told Hagrid about their encounter with Malfoy on the train — the things he said, and the way Violet had made him leave them alone. By the end of it, Hagrid’s great bushy eyebrows had shot up into his forehead.”

“Jumpin’ Jackalopes, Violet — yeh’ve got ter be careful, losin’ yer temper like that. Young witches an’ wizards don’ have as much control over their magic yet, and if yeh don’ mind it yeh could hurt someone.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt him,” Violet protested, “and I wasn’t even angry, really. I just wanted him to leave. I kept telling him to and he wouldn’t so I — I  _ made _ him.”

It was hard to read Hagrid’s face behind the beard and hair, but Violet could tell immediately by his eyes that she had made him worry. 

“I won’t do it again, Hagrid,” she said quickly. “I promise.”

Hagrid nodded, yet Violet couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t quite meet her eyes when he did so.

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asked Ron. “I liked him a lot — great with animals.”

Violet wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie’s work with dragons, Violet picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the  _ Daily Prophet _ :

 

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out of it if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

 

Violet remembered Ron telling them on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn’t mentioned the date. Violet nudged Harry and passed him the news clipping. His eyes widened as he finished reading.

“Hagrid!” said Harry loudly, and Violet very nearly kicked him under the table, “that Gringotts break-in happened on our birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

There was no doubt about in, Hagrid definitely didn’t meet anyone’s eyes this time. He grunted and offered Harry another rock cake. Violet glared daggers at her brother. She’d  _ meant _ for him to read it and then they could talk about it together,  _ later _ , not go blurting it out and making Hagrid uncomfortable again. The vault they had visited, seven hundred and thirteen, only held a tiny, grubby little package, which Hagrid took — surely that counted as “emptying” the vault, since there was nothing else in it? And what exactly had Hagrid said about why they went to vault seven hundred and thirteen in the first place? Hadn’t Dumbledore sent him? Did Dumbledore know that somebody was going to try and steal whatever that little package was?

So far, Violet hadn’t thought about any of her lessons as hard as she thought about tea with Hagrid and their trip to Gringotts. She kept thinking about it, well into the night, and eventually drifted into a fretful, nervous sleep.


	8. The Flying Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

Violet had never believed she would meet a boy she hated more than Dudley, but that was before she met Draco Malfoy. He was an arrogant, pompous, spoiled brat who wasn’t happy unless everyone around him was miserable or afraid of him. He bullied not only the other first years, but any second or third years that wouldn’t stand up to him, and he constantly threatened the older students with his father’s wrath if they tried to get him into trouble. Violet didn’t know who Draco’s father even was, but she very strongly did not want to meet him.

Fortunately she wasn’t alone in her opinion of Malfoy. Some of the other Slytherin first years had either turned down his offers of “friendship” or never been offered it in the first place. Theodore Nott was too quiet and bookish to fit in with Malfoy and his thugs, Millicent Bullstrode and Suzanna Runcorn hardly spoke to anyone besides each other, and Blaise Zabini didn’t speak to much of anyone at all. He liked to sit in the corners of the common room, watching everyone disapprovingly with his dark, narrow eyes. Violet got the feeling he might be just as arrogant as Malfoy himself, only without the need for attention.

Gemma Farley, the sixth year prefect, was one of few who wouldn’t put up with Malfoy’s threats.

“Oh,  _ please _ tell your father that I dared to shush you at eleven o’clock at night on a bloody Tuesday. I would love to hear back from him, I really would. Go on, write to him! My last name is spelled F-A-R-L —”

Violet had also found another ally in the common room, completely by accident. The large boy who’d sat between her and Tracey after the Sorting ceremony was third year called Cassius Warrington — he was taller and lankier than even Ron Weasley, but was too bulky for it to show properly. One evening while Violet was studying, she got up from her seat to fetch more ink, and came back to find her chair had been taken — literally taken, moved across the room by one of Malfoy’s lackeys.

Violet stood there, staring angrily at the place where her chair used to be with tears pricking in her eyes, and heard a heavy sigh from behind her. Within a few moments, Warrington had shoved himself out of his own chair and walked across the room, seized the back of Goyle’s chair, and tipped him bodily out of it. Malfoy and his gang stared in shock as Warrington dragged the chair back across the room to Violet’s table and set it down in front of her.

“Found you an empty seat,” he said casually, pushing the chair in as she sat down. He smiled at her, glared over at Malfoy, and then went back to his own table.

It would be too much to say that Warrington was now her friend, Violet thought — but that didn’t stop her from saying good morning, and saving him a seat at the table in the Great Hall.

Despite only sharing one class together, Harry complained about Malfoy  _ constantly. _ Apparently he had the habit of saying nasty things to Harry when they passed one another in the corridor, which Violet dearly wanted to put a stop to — which would have been easier if she hadn’t promised Hagrid to mind her temper. And it wasn’t like she could just march up to Malfoy and tell him off in the common room. She had to  _ live _ there, after all.

Fortunately, an opportunity outside of Professor Snape’s classroom presented itself. A notice had been pinned to the board in the Slytherin common room: Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday, and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

“I can’t wait to see how Malfoy actually handles himself on a broom,” said Tracey, as the two of them stood in front of the bulletin board. “After all his talk, I’ll bet he’s actually rubbish at it.”

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters.

Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Tracey apparently had some of her mother’s old posters hung up in her bedroom at home, but had never seen a game played in real life. Violet had barely been able to keep up with Muggle sports like football, and they only had  _ one _ ball.

 

At three-thirty that afternoon, Violet, Tracey, and the other Slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the ground for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they march down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance. Twenty broomsticks were lying in neat lines on the ground, though nobody dared touch them just yet.

After a few minutes of milling about, the Gryffindors finally joined them, along with their teacher, Madam Hooch, who was one of the most interesting people Violet had ever laid eyes on. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Violet glanced down at her broom. It was rather old, with much of the polish worn off of the handle and some of the twigs sticking out at odd angles.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch at the from,” and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouted.

Violet and Harry’s brooms jumped into their hands at once, and the twins looked between each other in delight. They were some of the only ones, however. Tracey’s broom had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville Longbottom’s hadn’t moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid; there was a quaver in Neville’s voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Everyone was delighted when she told Malfoy he’d been doing it wrong for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —”

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had even touched Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shout out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Violet saw hs scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and —

WHAM — a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

“Broken wrist,” Violet heard her mutter. “Come on, boy — it’s all right, up you get.”

She turned to the rest of the class.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

His little group of cronies joined in.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped a Gryffindor girl, one of the other set of twins that they had been sorted with.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, the only girl in Malfoy’s clique. “Never thought  _ you’d _ like fat little crybabies, Parvati.”

“Look!” said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

A small, clear glass ball glittered in the sun as he held it up.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Harry’s voice, and Violet froze. She could hear the intent in his tone, and hoped he wouldn’t do anything too stupid. But everyone else had noticed it too, and stopped talking to watch the boys.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?”

“Give it  _ here _ !” Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn’t been lying, he  _ could _ fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, “Come and get it, Potter!”

Harry grabbed his broom.

“ _ No _ !” shouted Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move — you’ll get us all in trouble.”

Harry ignored her. Violet watched her brother mount his broom and kick hard against the ground and up, up he soared. He was grinning as the wind ruffled his already mussed up hair, his robes whipping out behind him. Violet let out a scream of panic as he pulled backward on his broom, fearing that he would slip off and come crashing down just like Neville had — but he only rose higher, and turned his broom sharply to face Malfoy. He was  _ flying _ , and doing it well.

“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

“Oh, yeah?” said Malfoy. Violet grabbed onto Tracey’s arm, staring up at Harry without blinking, and screamed again when he suddenly shot forward like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face on his broom and held steady. A few people were clapping, but Violet felt as though she might be sick.

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” she heard her brother call, and Malfoy froze.

“Catch it if you can, then!” Malfoy shouted, and he pulled his arm back and threw the glass ball as hard as he could. Harry streaked after it at once. Violet’s vision narrowed to a focused tunnel, blood pounding in her ears — she faintly heard a squawk of alarm followed by a sharp crack, but paid it no mind, so intent she was on making sure her brother didn’t fall to his death. Remarkably, Harry was  _ not _ falling to his death at all. He pitched forward on his broom again and was off like a shot in the direction the ball had been thrown. He let go of the broom with one hand and reached out, grabbing the ball from the air mere feet from the ground, pulling back up just in time to avoid crashing. He toppled gently onto the grass with his hand tucked to his chest, his broom landing softly a few feet away from him. Violet let out a massive breath of relief and felt her entire body relax.

“HARRY POTTER!”

Violet didn’t even look to see who was shouting — she was already sprinting across the field toward Harry. She helped him to his feet and put her hands on his face, making sure he really was in one piece. Harry’s attention was fixed over her shoulder, and she turned to see Professor McGonagall running toward them.

“ _ Never _ — in all my time at Hogwarts —”

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “— how  _ dare _ you — might have broken your neck —”

A chorus of voiced piped up to defend Harry.

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor —”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil —”

“But Malfoy —”

“That’s  _ enough _ , Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”

There was nothing Violet could do but watch as Harry was led away from the ground by Professor McGonagall, back up the steps and in through the castle doors.

As her focus shifted from Harry’s disappearing form, Violet saw another small crowd gathered across the field. Draco Malfoy was sitting on the ground holding a hand to his forehead. Lying several feet from him in the grass were the two halves of his broomstick.

“What’s happened here?” Madam Hooch demanded, storming back across the field. “What’s the matter, boy? And what —”

A dozen voices piped up to explain what had went on while she was away, and exactly what part Malfoy had played in it. His pale face grew more and more pink under Madam Hooch’s yellow, disapproving gaze.

“I’ve heard enough!” Madam Hooch finally said, raising a hand to silence the chorus. “Mr. Malfoy — you’ve just lost your House twenty points.”

“ _ Twenty _ ?” cried Pansy.

“Ten for disregarding my direct instruction, five for bullying, five for fighting with another student — I’d take another five for damaging school property with your unfortunate crash landing, if you didn’t need a trip to the hospital wing for it.”

“I didn’t crash,” Draco said suddenly, meeting Madam Hooch’s eyes for the first time.

“Crash, fell, whatever you want to call it to save your pride —”

“I did  _ not _ fall,” he insisted, getting to his feet with difficulty. “The broom broke before I even touched the ground, it was like it just — just —”

Through the crowd of students gathered around him, Malfoy’s eyes found Violet. His expression went slack.

“ _ Snapped. _ ”

 

“She made you  _ what _ ?”

It was dinnertime. Harry had pulled Violet aside as they all bustled into the Great Hall, grinning broadly, and told her what had happened when he’d left the grounds with Professor McGonagall.

“I know, I can’t believe it either!” he said excitedly. “I don’t even know anything about Quidditch, but Wood’s going to train me — he’s captain of the Gryffindor team — only don’t tell anyone yet, I haven’t even told Ron —”

The pair of them got separated by a push of third and fourth years coming through, and Violet was forced to sit through dinner without being able to talk to anyone about all the day’s excitement. She was so worried Harry would be expelled and sent back to the Dursleys and then she really  _ would _ be all alone, but to hear that he hadn’t gotten into trouble at all was spectacular news. 

Violet kept trying to turn around to look at the Gryffindor table and see how Ron was taking the news, but Tracey kept asking what she was doing.

“You’re really close with your brother, aren’t you?” Tracey said through a mouthful of glazed pheasant. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so I don’t suppose I can relate, but I have about a dozen cousins that live near me and my dad — all Muggles, of course, which means I won’t be able to tell any of them about school.”

She looked put out for a moment, but brightened again immediately. “Haven’t you got a Muggle cousin that lives with you? Are you close, too?”

“No,” said Violet immediately. “No, we’re not close at all. He’s always picking on us, punching Harry and pulling my hair —”

“Doesn’t get he get in trouble for it?” Tracey asked, and Violet shook her head.

“Our aunt and uncle let him do whatever he wants. Dudley’s spoiled rotten.”

“And what about you and Harry?”

“What about us?”

“Well, if Dudley’s spoiled, how do they treat you two?”

Violet blinked at Tracey, trying to decide how to answer. It was a long-standing rule in the Dursley household, as put down by Uncle Vernon when the twins first started attending primary school, not to talk to strangers about what went on in the house. It was a family matter, he’d said, and not anyone’s business. If people came around asking questions, Violet and Harry were to tell them that they were being taken care of and leave it at that. Very few people had ever bothered to ask how the twins’ homelife was as Uncle Vernon seemed to fear, and the pair of them had always dutifully followed the script they’d been given so that they wouldn’t get in trouble at home.

Uncle Vernon was a long ways away from her now, but Violet dreaded the thought of coming home for the summer only to be punished.

“They take care of us,” she told Tracey with a shrug. “We’ve got our own bedroom, and they brought us to the train station when it was time for school.”

Tracey was looking at her carefully, in the way that her old teachers sometimes had. It wasn’t a look that Violet was particularly fond of — but then again, Violet wasn’t fond of people looking at her at all. She reached across the table for a bread roll and took a large bite out of it to try and distract herself. Finally, Tracey relented and went back to her meal.

The next time Violet risked a glance over at her brother it was just in time to see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle walking away from the Gryffindor table. Violet didn’t like that at  _ all. _

She liked even less when that night in the dormitory, as all the girls were getting ready for bed, Pansy Parkinson approached and gave her a hard shove on the shoulder.

“Break anything else today, freak?” she spat as Violet whipped around to face her.

“What was that for?” demanded Violet — she’d barely spoken two words to Pansy, and certainly hadn’t done anything to warrant being pushed. Pansy’s face was even more pinched than usual as she glared at Violet.

“You broke Draco’s broom today.  _ You’re _ the reason he fell and got hurt — he said it snapped right out from under him,  _ and _ he told us what you did to him on the train.”

“I didn’t  _ do _ anything to him,” Violet said angrily, “he’s the one who came in and started bothering us.”

“And you nearly threw him out of the window for it!”

“All I ever did was tell him to get out — how could I have possibly tried to throw him out of a window?”

“Because you’re a  _ freak, _ ” Pansy hissed, pushing Violet again, this time so hard she stumbled back against her trunk. Suddenly Pansy let out a yelp as something fluffy and purple went sailing through the air and smacked her in the back of the head.

“Leave her alone, Parkinson,” Tracey said, glaring — in her hand was her other bunny rabbit slipper, poised to be thrown, “or you’ll have me to deal with.”

Pansy spun to look at Tracey with a furious expression on her face.

“Oh, that’s rich,” she sneered, “the freak and her little Half-blood pet.”

“Stop calling me that!” Violet yelled. “I’m not a freak!”

“Are too! What else could you be, Potter?  _ Normal _ people can’t break things with their mind, you know — that’s something  _ freaks _ do —”

Pansy yelped again as Tracey’s other slipper hit her square in the ear. She grabbed the side of her face and glared daggers at them both. Her face had gone all red and blotchy.

“I’m telling,” she threatened. “I’ll tell Snape you attacked me and you’ll both get thrown out for good.”

“Go to bed and leave us alone, or next time it’ll be a proper shoe,” said Tracey, walking around the beds to come and stand beside Violet. Violet, on reflex, reached down and grabbed Tracey's hand and squeezed. Together they presented a united front, and Pansy had no choice but to retreat. She stomped back to her bed on the other side of the room and climbed inside, yanking the heavy silk curtains shut around her so she didn’t have to look at them anymore.

Violet sat down heavily on her own bed and tried not to cry.

“What a  _ bitch _ ,” Tracey grumbled, then immediately gasped and clapped both hands over her mouth. “Oh, no! I didn’t say that! Promise you didn’t hear me say that!”

Violet smiled at her, best she could, “Say what?”

Tracey stared at her, wide eyed, and then began to giggle behind her hands.

That night Violet went to bed feeling something she had rarely felt before, and certainly never felt without Harry beside her — safe. She felt protected, knowing that there was somebody else in the room willing to fight for her. To stand up for her, and stand next to her in the face of trouble.

Tracey was a good friend. Somehow Violet, Violet would have be brave enough to be a good friend for her too.

 

The next morning Pansy’s curtains were still pulled tightly shut and she didn’t leave the dormitory until everyone else had already exited into the common room. She did not — as Violet had privately feared she would — go and tell Professor Snape about the incident the night before. It seemed that Pansy’s bark was much worse than her bite.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone’s attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Violet watched, along with everyone else, to see where this large parcel would land, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of Harry. Another, much smaller owl fluttered behind them and dropped a letter into his lap. As he started to tear into the envelope, Violet was already on her feet and crossing the hall.

“Blimey!” exclaimed Ron, startled, as Violet suddenly appeared behind him and Harry and peered over her brother’s shoulder at the letter. She recognized the handwriting at once.

 

_ DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. _

_ It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one.  _

_ Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o’clock for your first training sessions. _

_ Professor M. McGonagall _

 

“Harry, that’s brilliant!” Violet him, hugging him round the shoulders as he passed the letter over for Ron to read.

“A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron moaned enviously. “I’ve never even  _ touched _ one.”

“Let’s go unwrap it,” Harry said, clambering to his feet. He stopped. “Wait — Violet, you can’t come in the Gryffindor common room...”

“You can show me later,” Violet told him, still beaming. His face lit up again.

“Yeah, I will! Come to practice with me after dinner — you can try it out, too, if you want.”

For the rest of the day, Violet struggled to stay focused on her lessons. Her mind kept wandering to that evening’s plans and Harry’s new racing broom. Surely he had it tucked away in his dormitory somewhere.

Harry had never really owned anything that was just  _ his _ before. Everything they had at the Dursleys was either shared between them or didn’t really belong to them at all, and they were merely “borrowing” it from their aunt and uncle. Violet had accumulated a few things for herself since coming to Hogwarts — mainly Crookshanks — but it was wonderful to hear that her brother would finally be getting something all to himself.

As dinner was ending, Violet watched Harry and Ron bolt out of the Great Hall as soon as they were allowed and head up the grand marble staircase. Violet lingered at the table a while longer, nibbling at the scraps left on her plate, before finally making an excuse to Tracey and heading out for herself.

Violet had never been inside of the Quidditch pitch before. It was a large oval field with hundreds of seats raised in stands around the outside. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Violet of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except they were fifty feet tall.

The sun was just starting to set as she stepped onto the field, but there was plenty of light left for her be able to see Harry already in the air, zipping about and weaving between the poles on his brand new broomstick.

“Let me have a go!” she called up to him. Harry whipped around on his broom and waved. Suddenly, he was diving toward her and gaining speed, heading straight in her direction so fast Violet thought she might not be able to move in time — but then Harry pulled back on his broom and slowed way down, making several slow loops around her before finally touching down. His hair was windswept and his face was flushed pink, but he looked happier than Violet had ever seen him.

“You made it,” Harry said excitedly. “Sorry — I couldn’t wait to see how it handled.”

“It’s _ beautiful. _ ”

Violet stared in wonder as Harry passed the broom over to her. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top. Even Violet, who knew nothing about the different brooms, though that it looked very finely made indeed.

“Go on,” said Harry, releasing the broom to her entirely, “give it a shot.”

With a nervous grin, Violet mounted the broomstick and kicked off from the ground just the way that Madam Hooch had taught them. She hovered for a moment, getting a feel for it — it wasn’t nearly as unsteady as she’d imagined it would be — before pulling back and allowing herself to rise a few feet at first, then a few more, then even higher until she was hovering twenty feet above the field and staring down at Harry’s joyous face beneath her. The wind whipped her hair about her face, and from this height Violet could see out over the treetops of the forbidden forest. The sun had just vanished beneath the horizon.

“Don’t just sit there!” Harry hollered up at her, “Fly!”

And Violet flew.

She did a lap around the stadium — once at a slower place, just to get a feel for the broom, and then, once felt comfortable, she took her second lap as fast as she dared push herself.

By the time Violet slowed and pulled to a stop, she looked down to see another boy standing there beside Harry, watching her. A large chest was on the ground between them. They both waved as she approached. Eyes watering and face chapped from the wind, Violet landed softly in front of them and passed the broom back over to Harry.

“Blimey, it must run in the family,” said the other boy, whom Violet could now see was much older than either of them. He was grinning as he shook her hand. “Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. If you weren’t a Slytherin I’d encourage you to join the team yourself, flying like that! You could make a fair Chaser.”

Violet didn’t know what a Chaser was, but glowed under the compliment. Wood’s smile turned awkward.

“Speaking of Slytherin — er — I know you’re Harry’s sister and all, but we’re supposed to keep this sort of training under wraps until the first match. Catch everyone by surprise and all, throw them their game. Not to be rude, but I, uh . . .”

“You want me to leave?” Violet said matter of factly, even as her heart sank.

“It’s nothing personal, if that helps? And if you could — don’t mention any of this to the folks in your House? Flint’ll use any advantage he has, the bastard — sorry — and I wouldn’t be surprised if that meant giving you a hard time for information. Can’t have that, can we?”

“Who’s Flint?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Slytherin team captain. Looks a bit like a troll.”

Violet knew immediately who he was talking about — she’d seen him lounging around the common room with some other older boys, grunting and laughing with them.

“But that’s not fair,” protested Harry, “Violet’d never spy for Slytherin. She’s not like the other ones. Er — like Malfoy, I mean,” he said, as Violet had turned to look at him strangely.

“There are plenty of nice people in Slytherin, Harry,” she said. Harry grimaced.

“Well, there’s  _ you _ , at least. I still don’t know how you got stuck there, Vi, you’re not —”

“I didn’t get  _ stuck _ there, I was Sorted!” said Violet, indignant. “The hat said it was the best place for me to be, even though I wanted to be with you!”

“But you could’ve said no to it! It wanted to put me in Slytherin, too, but I told it I’d rather be anywhere but there — I didn’t  _ want _ to be a Dark wizard —”

Violet reeled back as though she’d been hit. She could feel the hurt and anger mingling in her belly, directed toward her twin for the very first time. It was a sour feeling.

“Is that what you think of us?” she asked Harry, taking a step away from him and Wood. “Is that what you think of  _ me _ , now?”

Harry’s face flushed slightly. She could tell he was going to try and backpedal, to half-heartedly apologize for hurting her feelings while still standing by his opinions, and Violet didn’t want to hear it at all. She put up a hand and took another step away from them, and then another, and just kept on walking out of the Quidditch pitch, even as Harry tried to call her back.

There were tears in her eyes by the time she reached the castle, real, proper tears sliding down her cheeks and dripping off of her chin. They  _ never _ fought. Never in their lives had she and Harry turned their anger on one another, or hurt each other’s feelings. There were enough people in the world to do that to them already, they didn’t have time to fight or hold grudges. But this felt like a fight. And that didn’t feel good at all.

How could Harry think that about her? Did he really believe that she was evil or a Dark witch in training, just because of the House she was sorted into? All those things they’d heard on the train from Ron and from Hagrid about Slytherin being the only Hogwarts House to have bad wizards coming out of it all flooded back to Violet, only driving her to cry harder. What had the Sorting Hat seen in her that made it think she would do well in a House with such a nasty reputation? How could she have anything in common with people like Malfoy, or Crabbe, or Goyle, or —

So wrapped up was Violet in her anger and grief that she barely paid attention to where she was going. She took the steps down to the dungeons two at a time and, on her way down the corridor she very nearly ran straight into someone walking in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, that someone was Professor Snape.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter!” he snapped, stepping to the side as Violet drew up short. He stopped and stared at her, eyes narrowing at the tears on her cheeks. “What’s happened to you? Are you hurt?”

Violet quickly wiped her face with the sleeve of her robes and shook her head.

“No, sir. Sorry, I — I wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry.”

Snape squinted suspiciously at her.

“If you need to be escorted to the hospital wing —”

“I’m really fine!” said Violet loudly, her small voice echoing off the stone walls around them. “I just — I just want to go inside, please.”

For a moment Violet was worried Snape would be angry with her and take points for shouting, or for being out of the common room after dark, or even just because he felt like it. But after another long moment of staring at her, he sniffed dismissively and started to walk away. Violet stood for a moment, and then:

“Sir?”

Snape’s footsteps stopped. When she turned around, he was looking at her impatiently. Violet considered for a moment.

“Are we bad people?” she asked softly. “Slytherins, I mean. I don’t  _ feel _ evil — I don’t want to be bad or or hurt anyone, but the way people talk about us . . . do we get any say in who we are?”

Snape was staring at her, his brow deeply furrowed. Violet felt as though he were almost looking through her. A minute past before he opened his mouth and looked as though he meant to say something profound, or perhaps even kind —

He closed his mouth and returned his focus to her. The moment passed.

“Go to bed, Miss Potter,” he told her quietly, and then turned on his heel and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not ship Violet with Snape and especially please do not try to ask or talk to me about that sort of thing. She is eleven years old and I won't stand for it.


	9. Hallowe'en

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

The next morning, Violet did not want to get out of bed.

She felt rotten. She felt like a weight was crushing down on her, holding her in the bed — or perhaps it was only Crookshanks, who was fast asleep on her stomach. He came awake as soon as she touched him and began to purr, a great rumbling sound that she could feel all through her chest.

“You don’t think I’m evil, do you?” Violet asked. The cat looked back at her with his big yellow eyes and blinked, once. He nuzzled his face against her hand and began to knead his paws into her tummy. Violet, who was terribly ticklish, giggled and had to push Crookshanks away.

That day Violet did something she had never done before: she ignored Harry.

Normally, as all the students flooded the Great Hall for breakfast, Violet would stand to the side by the doors and wait for Harry to come through — they would greet each other, hug, share any interesting bits of information or experiences they’d had during the evening. On this morning she joined Tracey and went straight to her seat the Slytherin table. She didn’t turn once turn around to look at the Gryffindor table, though she swore she could feel eyes boring into her from across the room. And when breakfast was nearly over, Violet hurried out of the hall with a large group of other students so that Harry couldn’t try to catch her and pull her aside.

It wasn’t so much that she was still angry with him — she was, though not nearly as angry as she’d been the night before — as Violet simply didn’t feel like talking to him at all. She didn’t want to put herself in a position where she might start crying again, especially not so early in the morning with all her classes yet to deal with.

And speaking of classes, there was one small hitch in her avoidance plan: Potions in the afternoon, shared with the Gryffindors. She and Harry shared a desk. She would  _ have _ to talk to him.

As the dreaded period drew closer Violet became scheming ways to get out of going to glass. She could fake a cough or an upset stomach, but that likely wouldn’t fool Snape, much less Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary. The most direct method would be to simply not go to class at all and hide out in her dormitory until it was time for dinner — but then she would have to go down the Great Hall by herself and face everyone at the table, as well as facing Snape’s wrath.

In the end, Violet lost her nerve and filed into class alongside everyone else.

Harry was fidgeting with his quill when she silently sat down beside him, careful to keep to her side of the desk. She kept her eyes fixed on the front of the class even as he clearly sought to catch her gaze.

They were to practice brewing an herbicide potion today, and Violet had her quill at the ready as Snape began his lecture on the subject. A piece of chalk was levitating in front of the blackboard, writing instructions on its own, and the room was silent except for its taps and occasional squeaks and the sound of Snape’s voice.

Under the desk, Violet felt something nudge her foot. She ignored it, and the next nudge was more forceful and accompanied by an insistent poke on her leg. She glanced down — Harry was trying to pass a folded note to her.

“. . .the spines must be crushed into a  _ fine _ powder using your mortar and pestle. Any large chunks added to the mixture will not dissolve properly and affect the potion’s texture as well as its potency — meaning that I will be able to tell at a glance whether you’ve been following my instructions, or if you’ve simply been wasting my time . . .”

Snape’s voice droned from the front of the class. When Harry poked her again, Violet put her free hand beneath the desk and snatched the note away from him. She tucked it tight in her fist and went back to copying down what was on the board.

Harry was fidgeting again, tapping his quill on his parchment and bouncing his knee beneath the table, clearly anxious for Violet to see what he had to say. She  _ did _ want to read it, but she also didn’t want Snape to catch them passing notes in class. They’d already lost twenty House points thanks to Malfoy — she wasn’t keen to lose any more.

Finally, when the lecture was over and they were all instructed to ready their equipment, Violet ducked her head down and unfolded the note.

 

_ Vi, _

_ Sorry for what I said about Slytherins. I did some reading last night and found out I was wrong — did you know Merlin was a Slytherin?  _

_ It’s okay if you’re still mad. Let me know when you’re not and we can talk some more. _

_ Harry _

 

Violet crumpled the note in her hand and blinked very quickly to stop herself from crying.

She felt so  _ stupid _ suddenly, for being as angry as she was. For treating Harry the way she did, ignoring him, trying to hurt his feelings the way he’d hurt hers. Maybe there was something rotten in her after all for wanting to do that.

For the first time that day she looked over and caught her brother’s eye. His expression was nervous, but when she smiled at him his face immediately lit up.

“I am really am sorry,” Harry murmured as they gathered ingredients from the shelves at the front of the class.

“It’s okay,” said Violet, “I’m sorry, too — and I didn’t know that about Merlin either, actually. Thanks, Harry.”

“Enough chatter,” snapped Snape. Everyone scurried back to their desks, arms full of vials of horklump juice and flobberworm mucus. Violet crushed down the lionfish spines into as fine a powder as she could make while Harry measured out the correct amounts of slimy, foul-smelling mucus, and at the end of the lesson Snape stood over their cauldron and declared it “satisfactory.”

 

Perhaps it was to do with how exciting everything was at Hogwarts, and so different from the droll, monotonous life with the Dursleys, but Violet could hardly believe it when she realized that she’d already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. Her lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since he’d demonstrated it nearly a week earlier. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Violet’s partner was Suzanna Runcorn, while Tracey got put with Crabbe. Violet gave her the most sympathetic look she could muster.

“Now, don’t forget the nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the words magic words properly in very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

Violet was fairly certain that “Wizard Baruffio” was not a real person at all and had no idea how one could even summon a buffalo in the first place — but she appreciated a good teaching tool when she heard one.

Not that she really needed it. Suzanna was swishing and flicking with great focus, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop.

“I can’t make it work,” she whined, though Violet could tell right away what the problem was — she was ‘swishing’ her wand in the wrong direction than Professor Flitwick had showed them.

“Can I have a go?” Violed asked, and Suzanna nodded eagerly.

“Flitwick likes you,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “If you you cast it right on the first try we might even get points for it.”

Violet, who had never really been liked by any teacher before, suddenly felt an enormous amount of pressure on her to perform perfectly. As she pushed the sleeves of her robes up to her elbows, Violet made the mistake of glancing over at Professor Flitwick — sure enough, he was watching their group. Violet swallowed hard.

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa!” _ she said confidently, not feeling confident at all, and made a nice, tight circular swish with her wand followed by a sharp flick.

The feather trembled, and then rose off the desk and hovered about five feet above their heads.

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Potter’s done it!”

Suzanna and Tracey clapped as well, but they were the only ones. Across the room, Violet caught sight of Malfoy’s pale, pinched face glaring in her direction. His feather was also hovering in the air, but only a couple of inches from the surface of the desk, and it was spinning. Malfoy’s partner, Goyle, was too busy picking his nose to even notice.

They did not get points for Violet’s spellcasting as Suzanna had hoped, but Violet did notice a definite increase in warmth from the other girl by the end of class. Violet corrected her swishing technique and within moments Suzanna had gotten the feather to rise as well.

“You’re really talented,” Suzanna told her as they were packing up at the end of class. “Especially for someone who grew up around Muggles. I’d have thought they would drain all the magic out of you or something.”

Violet smiled and flushed slightly at the compliment — she refrained from mentioning that that was exactly what the Dursleys had  _ tried _ to do to her and Harry. When Professor Flitwick gave her a little thumbs up and wave as they all filed out of class, Violet was very glad it hadn’t worked.

Harry and Ron were deep in conversation when Violet passed them heading into the Great Hall, meaning neither of them noticed her trying to wave hello to them. Violet felt put out for exactly three seconds, but a moment later she had entered the Great Hall herself, where the Halloween decorations put everything else out of her mind entirely.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceilings while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Violet was just helping helping herself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.”

Then he sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately.”

“But our dormitory is  _ in _ the dungeon!” a voice cried from further up the Slytherin table, and suddenly they was another, smaller uproar. This was quelled very quickly by Gemma Farley standing up on the bench and clapping her hands very loudly.

“Everyone, follow me!” she shouted. “Stick together, first years, and stay close behind me! Orderly lines now, please, don’t get separated!”

Violet grabbed on to Tracey’s hand as they filed from the Hall, heading not toward the entrance to the dungeons, but toward the great oak doors that led outside. Violet looked around at the marble staircase which she knew led to wherever the Gryffindor common room was, and was shocked to see Harry and Ron break off from their classmates and blend in with a crowd of Hufflepuffs heading in the opposite direction. She stopped in her tracks and pulled Tracey to a halt with her.

“What’s wrong?” Tracey asked, but Violet was already trying to pull her back into the entrance hall. “Hey — Violet, we’ll get in trouble!”

“Yeah, you will,” said a boy’s voice, and Violet felt somebody grab onto the back of her robes. “Where’re you off to, then?”

She scrambled to free herself and whipped around to find Cassius Warrington looking down at her, an amused expression on his long face.

“My brother’s trying to go after the troll,” she hissed, “I saw him sneak off and —”

“And you think you’re going after him?” Cassius said, his smirk broadening into a full grin. “Come off it, he’ll get caught by a prefect or a teacher in no time. Let’s get outside with the others.”

“I  _ have _ to go with him!” Violet insisted. She finally wrenched her way out of Cassius’ grip and took a few quick steps away from him. “He’ll get himself killed, I have to help him!”

“You’ll get  _ yourself _ killed, Potter — it’s a troll, and you’re eleven.”

“Then help me, if you know so much about it,” she snapped. From the front of the group, Gemma was yelling at a second year to get back in line. Violet looked to Tracey and Cassius pleadingly. “ _ Please, _ let me at least go follow him and make him come back.”

Tracey, who had looked very frightened the entire time, shook her head quickly. Cassius rolled his eyes.

“Merlin’s beard, you’re pushy. Fine. Quick now, while Farley’s not looking.”

Violet barely had time to thank him before he was shoving her into a group of passing Ravenclaws. They jumped from House to House as everyone broke off toward their respective common rooms, eventually slipping down a side corridor and hurrying along until they came to a fork. Violet went left.

“This isn’t the way to the dungeons,” Cassius hissed from close behind her. “Your brother’s a bit of an idiot if he’s looking for the troll here.”

“Of course he’s an idiot, but you don’t get to call him that,” Violet warned. She stopped for a moment, listening, and heard footsteps coming from what sounded like the corridor up again. She darted off again.

“Hold it!” Violet came to a sharp stop as Cassius yanked the back of her robes again. “Look there — maybe the troll’s been here after all.”

On the floor of the corridor crossing ahead of them were several large, muddy footprints, along with a shallow gouge in the stone, as though something heavy had been scraped across it. Violet had just made started toward them when a muffled scream echoed from the direction they’d just come from.

“Harry!” Violet called, and sprinted back down the corridor.

It took several twists and turns before they could find their way to the source of the screams, which were now joined by other shouts and loud clangs; Violet definitely recognized Harry’s voice among them. She was nearly shaking with fear as they finally found the right corridor, with light streaming out of a single open door. There was a terrible, loud thud, and the floor beneath Violet’s feet shook as something heavy crashed onto it nearby. She started toward the door, wand at the ready, but was once again grabbed from behind.

This time she couldn’t break away from the hold, which was dragging her backwards, and a hand clamped down over her mouth. Cassius pulled her into a dark alcove between a huge vase and the wall and whispered: “Be quiet or we’ll get expelled.”

Not even a second later, there was another nearby slam and three tall figures rushed back their hiding spot into the room. After a moment, Violet heard the loud, irate voice of Professor McGonagall echoing down the hall.

“Come on, we’re going back,” Cassius muttered. He started to gently shove Violet back out into the hall. She clawed his hand away from her mouth.

“What if he’s hurt?” she hissed, but Cassius just shook his head.

“Then you can visit him in the hospital wing. That was Snape  _ and _ McGonagall that just ran past, and I’m not keen on being in detention from now til Christmas. Come  _ on. _ ”

There was little Violet could do but pout as the older boy took a firm hold of her hand and pulled her along back to the entrance hall. The other Slytherins were inside now, lingering at the top of the stairs for the all clear from a teacher, and the pair of them managed to sneak into the back of the group without getting yelled at. Tracey, who had clearly been waiting for them to return, gasped with delight and threw her arms around Violet.

“I thought you’d die!” she said tearfully while Violet struggled for air. “I’m so sorry, I should have come with you, I was so scared —”

“I’m alright,” Violet told her, “but I think Harry might be hurt. Warrington made me come back.”

She threw a glare at him, which he returned, only to sputter in surprise as Tracey threw her arms around him as well. The pulled the three of them together awkwardly and began to scold them.

From that moment on, and partially against his will, Cassius Warrington became their friend.


	10. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the windows of the upstairs classrooms defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver skin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, the first match of the season would be played: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. If Slytherin won, they would keep their first place in the House Championship and maintain their winning streak.

Violet knew that her brother would be playing his first game — hardly anyone had gotten to see him play, including her, because Wood had apparently decided that Harry was going to be their secret weapon. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Violet found herself battered with questions about his abilities. Just as Wood had feared, she was even approached by Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain, outside of class one day. He cornered her and demanded to know everything she knew about Harry’s height and weight, his top speed, what kind of broom he’d been given — alarmingly, he’d even asked whether or not Harry could see at all without his glasses.

Violet was on the verge of tears from his interrogation when Professor McGonagall stepped out of the classroom and saw what was going on. She shooed Flint away, and even enlisted the Weasley twins to see Violet safely between classes. She had only specified for the rest of the day, but for the next week leading up to the match every time Violet stepped out of class she was immediately flanked by the two red-headed boys, who loudly ordered everyone in the hall to make way for her. At first it was mortifying, but as the days went on and the boys started teasing and talking to her, Violet couldn’t wait to get out of her classes and see them.

Cassius was a third year, which meant that they didn’t share any classes with one another, but during meals and free periods the three of them were almost always together. Tracey had gone so far as to make them each something she called “friendship bracelets” — little woven bands of thick, brightly colored thread that she eagerly fastened around each of their wrists one morning.

“My aunt taught me how to make them!” she explained excitedly, while Cassius and Violet examined their new accessories. “She works at a summer youth group. They showed us how to make lots of stuff there. I wish I could get my hands on some beads . . .”

When he wasn’t pretending to be annoyed with them, Cassius was a very funny, clever boy who knew a lot about the magical world and was happy to answer Violet and Tracey’s questions, no matter how silly — he came from a Pureblood family, and had just as many questions about Muggle life. He was also very good for keeping people away from Violet. Not everyone, though, only the people that she didn’t want to talk to. Malfoy didn’t dare look at her wrong when Cassius was around, and Pansy seemed to be awfully polite at the dinner table when Violet and Tracey were sitting on either side of him.

During lunch the day before the first Quidditch match, the girls were digging into their food when Cassius suddenly swooped in between them.

“Have you got Potions today?” he asked, immediately grabbing a bread roll and stuffing half of it into his mouth. Violet shook her head, and he grunted. “Good. Snape’s in a foul mood.”

“Is he ever  _ not _ in a foul mood?” asked Tracey. Cassius shoved the rest of the bread roll into his mouth and swallowed it down after a few vigorous chews.

“Yeah, but not like this. He’s hurt his leg or something — he’s doing a rubbish job of hiding the fact that he’s limping, and he nearly screamed when Pucey stepped on his foot by accident. Gave him detention with Filch for a week.”

Violet and Tracey grimaced in sympathy for Pucey.

They never did get a chance to see Snape’s limp for themselves, as they didn’t have his class again until Monday and he seemed strangely absent from meals that day. But the next morning, instead of Cassius that plopped down beside Violet, it was Harry.

“Morning!” she said brightly, about to ask how he was feeling before the big game — but stopped when she saw her brother’s serious expression.

“Snape’s up to something,” he said quietly, and then, before Violet could ask for clarification, began to tell her about what he’d seen the night before. Apparently he’d gone to the staff room to ask for a book back, and instead found Filch in there helping Snape to bandage his bloody, mangled leg. Most confusingly of all, he seemed to believe that Snape had been bitten by some massive, three-headed dog somewhere in the castle.

“Harry,” Violet said loudly, when her twin showed no signs of slowing down. “What on  _ earth _ are you talking about?”

“The dog, in the third-floor corridor!” he said, blinking at her. “Didn’t I tell you about the dog?”

“Er — no? I think I would have remembered hearing about a blood thirsty, three-headed dog living in the castle if you’d told me about it. But how do  _ you _ know about it? What were you even doing in the third-floor corridor, Dumbledore said anyone who went there could  _ die _ — Harry, please tell me you haven’t been running off into trouble again, you  _ know _ how worried that makes me —”

“No, I wasn’t — well, okay, yes, but not that kind of trouble. We were running from Filch and —”

“ _ Harry _ !”

Violet made her brother sit and tell her all about the dangerous nonsense he’d gotten up to and never bothered to tell her about. Malfoy’s trick duelling challenge, and running from Peeves; finding the dog; going after the troll on Halloween and seeing Snape heading for the third-floor when all the other teachers were supposed to be in the dungeons;  _ fighting _ the troll, just him and Ron by themselves after they’d made Hermione Granger cry —

It was a lot. By the time he was through, Violet was furious with him.

“You’ve got to stop doing this,” she scolded, and whacked him on the arm for good measure. “If you get hurt or expelled or anything awful happens to you at all then I’ll be stuck here alone. I can’t do it, Harry.  _ Promise _ me you’ll be more careful.”

“But Vi, don’t you see — Snape’s trying to get —”

“Promise me!”

A few heads turn to look at them curiously at the volume of her voice. Violet went pink. She snatched Harry’s hand in her own and squeezed hard.

“You’ve got to promise. Please.”

Harry opened his mouth once more, and then closed it. He looked down at their hands in his lap and sighed.

“I promise . . .” he said, and Violet let out a breath. “But you’ve got to promise me something, too — keep an eye on Snape. You’re in Slytherin, you can get away with what I can’t. And I think he likes you better than me, anyways. Just — just let me know if he does anything funny, all right? Please?”

Grudgingly, Violet agreed to spy on her head of House for her brother. Not that she expected to see anything suspicious, or whatever Harry was hoping for — Snape was a teacher. He was trustworthy. . . wasn’t he?

 

By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Violet and Tracey joined Ron and Hermione and some other Gryffindor boys in the top row. The Gryffindors had really gone all out in their preparation — they were all holding up what appeared to a bed sheet, painted with the words  _ Potter for Prime Minister _ with a large drawing of a lion underneath. The colours seemed to shimmer and flash as they waved it and hollered in excitement.

“Do we have to sit  _ here _ ?” Cassius voice said from behind them. He must have muscled his way through the stands to find them, and was now looking distastefully at the sea of Gryffindor reds and golds around them.

“I want to be able to see Harry,” Violet told him.

“I brought binoculars!” Tracey said, holding them up with a metallic grin. Cassius looked between them and sighed heavily, his breath billowing out of him in a great cloud of steam. 

There was little time for conversation beyond that, because just then the two sets of doors on opposite sides of the pitch opened up and both House teams walked out onto the field. The crowd went wild with cheers. Violet could see Harry at the back of the Gryffindor team, dressed all in red to contrast the green of the Slytherin. He looked so much smaller than everybody else.

The two teams met in the middle of the field, where Madam Hooch was waiting for them, broom in hand. There was a brief exchange of words, a shake of hands between team captains, and then they were all mounting their brooms and, on the signal of Madam Hooch’s silver whistle, kicked off the ground and shot into the air.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Commentary was apparently being run by an older Gryffindor boy, under the close supervision of Professor McGonagall.

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he’s going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must’ve hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she’s really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — missed — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!”

Ron and Violet squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope,” said Ron. “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.”

“Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Cassius leaned down to whisper in Violet’s ear.

“You could’ve mentioned you had bigger friends than me, y’know.”

Way above them, Harry could be seen gliding over the game, circling slowly over the pitch and looking down at the match taking place below him. He’d done a few excited loops when his House had scored, but now he was back on the hunt. Violet let out a shriek a few minutes later when a Bludger came streaking toward him, more like a cannonball than anything, but he managed to dodge it and one of the Weasley twins came chasing after it. They beat it furiously back in the direction of Marcus Flint.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Violet watched Harry dive suddenly, just as the Slytherin Seeker did the same. Neck and neck they hurtled toward what must have been the Snitch — Violet couldn’t see anything from this distance — and Harry was clearly faster. He was leaned so far forward he was pressed almost flat to the handle of his broom, he must he so close —

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the crowd of Gryffindors all around — Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose and send his broom spinning off coarse, Harry holding on for dear life. Violet shrieked again, and turned to bury her face in Hagrid’s belly. A large, heavy hand patted her on the back.

“He’s all right, now, c’mon — don’t want ter miss a thing —”

“Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors. Several of them had noticed Violet, Tracey, and Cassius in their midst and began to shout at them directly, as though they were somehow responsible.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Marcus Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindors. Harry, who had not fallen off of his broom and hurtled to his death just yet, had gone back up to his circling position high above the pitch.

The commentator was finding it difficult not to take sides.

“So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —”

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul —”

“ _ Jordan, I’m warning you  _ —”

“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

While the rest of the crowd was focused on the position of the Quaffle and whoever was holding it, Violet’s entirely was entirely devoted to Harry. She watched, her heart skipping a beat, as he gave his broom a violent, upward jerk. Was that a tactic or a signal of some kind? If it was, no one else seemed to be paying attention.

Jordan was still commentating.

“Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose — only joking, Professor — Slytherin’s score — oh no . . .”

The Slytherins on the other side of the stadium were cheering, but Violet didn’t hear them. Her eyes were fixed on the speck that was her brother, floating higher and higher above the pitch.

“Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,” Hagrid mumbled from above her. He stared through his binoculars. “If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom . . . but he can’t have . . .”

“Let me see those,” Violet said to Tracey, who hurriedly untangled the binoculars from her own neck and passed them to Violet. She pressed them up to her eyes and scanned the skies for Harry.

His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Violet’s stomach dropped so suddenly she felt sick — Harry’s broom had given a wild swing and Harry had swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Tracey whispered.

“Can’t have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothin’ interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

Violet was completely numb. She heard a scuffle beside her in the stands, but refused to look away until someone jostled her hard and went running past.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice high and thin with panic. Ron pointed across the crowd.

“Look — over there, at Snape.”

Violet immediately refocused her attention through the binoculars. Professor Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his black eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

“I — I don’t understand,” Violet said, staring at him. He seemed completely focused, blind to the panic of the other teachers around him. Professor Flitwick was standing on his seat with fistfuls of his own hair in his hands, Professor Sprout had pulled her hat down over her eyes and Professor Quirrell —

Professor Quirrell  _ also _ had his eyes fixed on Harry, and his lips were moving ever so slightly, just a few seats behind Snape and the others.

Before Violet could process what she was seeing or what it could possibly mean, the crowd gave another collective noise of alarm and she scrambled to put the binoculars back on Harry.

Both Weasley twins were near him now, trying to grab hold of him and pull him onto one of their brooms, but every time they got too close Harry’s broom would jerk and jump higher still. The twins dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. 

“Come on, Hermione,” Violet heard Ron mutter desperately.

Every muscle in Violet’s small body was clenched in mortal fear. Blood was hammering in her ears and the edges of her vision were blurring and growing darker by the second. She focused on Harry’s broom, on Harry, put all of her will into keeping him still, making the piece of stick and twigs stop moving and stop trying to throw her brother to his death.

There was a terrible, trembling jerk in the handle of the broom, and then for just a moment it held itself perfectly still. Harry’s other hand latched onto the handle and held on tight. Someone nearby was sobbing loudly, but Violet refused to be distracted.

About thirty tense, terrifying seconds later the rogue broom gave a final shudder and fell still, and Harry was suddenly able to clamber back onto it. He dived for the ground at full speed. Violet saw him clap his hand over his mouth as though he might be sick — he hit the field on all fours — coughed — and something gold fell into his hand.

“I’ve caught the Snitch!” he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

Violet blacked out.

 

She awoke slowly, clearly some time later, no longer in the stands at the Quidditch pitch but someplace warm and dry and familiar. Hagrid’s huge face hovered over her, and his worried expression split into a broad grin when her eyes fluttered open at last.

“There yeh are!” he exclaimed loudly, and suddenly half a dozen more faces joined him crowding above her — Violet sat up so fast she felt dizzy and immediately launched herself at Harry. She began to cry.

“I’m okay. . . Vi, I’m all right, promise. . .”

“Here, now, have a cup o’ tea —”

After several minutes of simply hugging her brother, Violet allowed herself to be pried away and led over to the table in the middle of the Hagrid’s hut and given a cup of strong, black tea.

“It was Snape,” Ron was explaining, “Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid at once. “Why would he do somethin’ like that?”

“He wouldn’t,” Violet said at once, and all the Gryffindors looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I saw him too — but he wasn’t the only one doing that. Professor Quirrell was behind him and he was muttering too.”

Ron’s mouth fell open.

“Of course!” he said, looking between Harry and Hermione. “Quirrell teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts — of bloody  _ course _ he’d know how to counter whatever Snape was doing!”

Violet frowned — that wasn’t what she’d meant at all, but none of them seemed interested in listening to her now that Ron had gotten started. Harry joining in didn’t help things, either.

“I found out something about him,” he told Hagrid, looking cautiously at Tracey and Cassius. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. I think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.”

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he said.

“ _ Fluffy _ ?”

“Yeah — he’s mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in a pub las’ year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —”

“Yes?” said Harry eagerly.

“Now, don’t ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly. “That’s top secret.”

“But Snape’s going to  _ steal _ it.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid again. “Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.”

“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” cried Hermione.

“He  _ didn’t _ ,” Violet insisted, and the other girl rounded on her.

“I know a jinx when I see one, Violet, I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!”

“But so was Quirrell!” Violet countered.

“I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” said Hagrid hotly. “I don’ know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but no teacher at this school would try an’ kill a student! No listen to me, all of yeh — yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel —”

“Aha!” said Harry, “so there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all much for the kind words and kudos!! This sort of response is more than I could have hoped for <3


	11. The Mirror of Erised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Professor Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban — Violet had told them about what she’d seen during the Quidditch match, and so far they were the only ones who didn’t laugh at her. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Slytherin common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape’s classes down in the chilliest part of the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

“I do feel so sorry,” said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, “for those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

He was looking over at Harry and Violet as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. The twins, who were carefully measuring out strips of dessicated bat wing, ignored him. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he’d realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry, and by extension Violet, for having no proper family.

It was true that the Potter twins weren’t going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor Snape had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Violet had signed up at once, absolutely certain that Harry would be doing the same. They didn’t feel sorry for themselves at all. This would probably be the best Christmas they’d ever had. Cassius would be leaving to go on holiday with his parents in Brazil, but Tracey’s father had recommended she stay at school over the break to get the full experience.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

“Hi, Hagrid, want any help?” Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches

“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” came Malfoy’s cold drawl from behind them. “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.”

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

“WEASLEY!”

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy’s robes.

“He was provoked, Professor Snape,” said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. “Malfoy was insultin’ his family.”

“Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” said Snape silkily. “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.”

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

“I’ll get him,” said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy’s back, “one of these days, I’ll get him —”

“I hate them both,” said Harry, “Malfoy and Snape.”

“Will you leave Professor Snape alone?” Violet said, irritated. Harry and his friends hadn’t let up on the idea that what happened to his broom was Snape’s fault, no matter what Violet tried to tell them she saw. Harry rolled his eyes at her now, as if _she_ was the one being unreasonable.

“Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,” said Hagrid. “Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

So the five of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you?”

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

“How many days you got let until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked.

“Just one,” said Hermione. “And that reminds me — Harry, Ron, we’ve got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles coming out his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

“The library?” said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?”

“Oh, we’re not working,” Harry told him brightly. “Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we’ve been trying to find out who he is.”

“You _what_?” Hagrid looked shocked. “Listen here — I’ve told yeh — drop it. It’s nothin’ to you what that dog’s guardin’.”

“We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that’s all,” said Hermione.

“Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble?” Harry added. “We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and we can’t find him anywhere — just give us a hint — I know I’ve read his name somewhere.”

“I’m sayin’ nothin’,” said Hagrid flatly.

“Just have to find out for ourselves, then,” said Ron, and the three Gryffindors left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

Violet looked up at him with a smile.

“ _I_ know who Nicolas Flamel is,” she said, and Hagrid went very pale. She patted his elbow comfortingly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell him — I checked out an old book weeks ago and found his name by accident. Harry’s going to get himself into trouble no matter what, but I don’t plan to make it any easier for him.”

Hagrid was staring down at her with a mix of relief and concern.

“Crikey,” he finally muttered. “No wonder they put yeh in Slytherin. . .”

 

Once the holidays had started, Violet and Tracey were having too good a time to think much about Flamel or whatever it was that Harry was up to. They had the dormitory entirely to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork — bread, English muffins, marshmallows — and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work.

Tracey made it her mission to learn everything she could about Quidditch, and enlisted Violet to help her research the sport. They spent hours spread out on their beds, pouring over old news clippings and books about famous Quidditch teams and players and maneuvers. Personally, Violet didn’t find Quidditch all that interesting, but all the research did help her understand more of what was happening during Harry’s Quidditch games.

On Christmas Eve, Violet went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When she woke early in the morning, however, the first think she saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of her bed.

“Merry Christmas,” said Tracey brightly, already sitting up and in her bathrobe.

“You, too,” said Violet, scrambling out of bed. “Will you look at this? I’ve got some presents!”

“Well of _course_ you have,” said Tracey, hopping out of her bed to come sit on Violet’s. “Go on, then, open them all up!”

Violet picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Violet, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly carved but brightly polished pendant that looked like it might be made of bone, attached to a sturdy leather cord. Hagrid had obviously made it himself. Violet immediately slipped it over her head and affixed it around her neck.

A second, even smaller parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas presents. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia._ Taped to the note was fifty-pence piece.

“That’s friendly,” said Violet.

“Do you want to keep this?” Tracey asked, reading over the note. Violet shook her head. “Oh, good.”

She tore the letter into pieces, which she then chucked into the fire. She came and sat back down, smiling.

“Thanks,” Violet said, slightly flushed. “Hagrid and my aunt and uncle — so who sent these?”

“Well, this one’s from me,” Tracey said, grabbing a very neatly wrapped parcel and dropped it into Violet’s lap. It was a small, heavy bottle of layered, rainbow colored sand that formed pretty waves and shimmered slightly when held up to the light.

“It’s not much,” Tracey said, sounding apologetic, “I wanted you to have a little decoration, since you couldn’t bring anything from home —”

Violet fairly threw herself at Tracey and hugged her until her arms hurt.

“I love it,” she said sincerely. “Here, hold on a moment —”

She got up and ducked down to the floor, pulling out a not-so-neatly wrapped present out from under her bed and handing it over to Tracey. It was a small bag of multicolored glass beads, which Violet had traded a Hufflepuff fifth year the last piece of treacle tart for. Tracey beamed from ear to ear.

But there were two packages left at the foot of her bed, and Violet had no idea who they could be from. The cards left with them were no help at all — neither of them were sighed, and both of them were cryptic. The first was written in a narrow, looping script that she’d never seen before, and said:

 

_I once gave this to your mother. It was returned to me shortly after her death. Now, I believe that it should go to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

Violet stared at the note and read it several times. Something that belonged to her _mother_? Violet didn’t know hardly anything about her mother, other than what little she’d been able to pry out of Aunt Petunia and what Hagrid had told her before coming to school. She eagerly tore into the package, which contained another small, sealed wooden box within it. She opened that, and gasped.

A silver ring gleamed back at her, set with three small, milky-white, completely round stones.

“Ooh, that’s _pretty,_ ” Tracey said. “Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know — they say it was my mother’s. . .”

Very carefully, Violet took the ring out of its box and slipped it onto her finger. Tracey let out a small scream.

“Violet! Oh my god, are you all right?”

“Yes?” said Violet, only her voice didn’t come out right. It sounded thin and distant, like she was whispering from behind a closed door. She looked down at the ring on her hand and very nearly screamed herself.

She could see straight through her hand to the bed beneath it. Frantically, the pulled the ring off of her finger. Her hand immediately solidified again, as did the rest of her body. Tracey’s mouth was hanging open.

“Put it back on!” she urged, and Violet complied. Sure enough, her hands and arms at once became see shimmery and see through, though not quite invisible. She almost looked like one of the Hogwarts ghosts.

“Do you feel any different?” Tracey asked, and Violet shook her head again. She did feel something, something very strange indeed, when Tracey reached across the bed and tried to prod her in the shoulder — her finger sank straight through Violet and poked out her back. Violet was left with a fuzzy sensation.

“ _That. . ._ is _amazing._ ”

Violet took the ring back off, and took her new necklace off as well. She untied the leather cord, slipped it through the strange silver ring, then fastened the whole thing back around her neck.

“I can’t deal with that right now,” she told a bewildered Tracey, “but I don’t want to lose it. I’ll get back to it later, but right now I — I can’t. That’s too much.”

Heart hammering, Violet turned her attention to the last and the largest of the presents left for her. It was heavy and rectangular, and when Violet tore open the simple wrapping paper she found a stack of three very battered, very worn schoolbooks. They were all for subjects that Violet had never even heard of before — _Numerology and Grammatica_ and _Spellman’s Syllabary_ and _Confronting the Faceless_. They all looked rather advanced for first year studies, but when Violet opened the first cover her heart skipped a beat.

Printed neatly on the first page, on the line labeled “property of,” was a name:

Lily Evans.

Violet quickly flipped open the other two books, only to find the same name staring back at her. Lily Evans. _Lily._ That was her mother’s name. And of course her mother hadn’t always been Lily Potter — could these books have belonged to her as well?

The note that came with this present was in an completely different handwriting. It was stiff and blocky, and Violet didn’t recognize it either.

_When your mother left school, she was kind enough to donate her books to students who may be unable to otherwise acquire them._

_I took the liberty of saving them — perhaps it is time they went to someone who might appreciate their true value, as I have._

 

There was no signature on this one either, and this time not even a send off. Violet flipped it over to the back, hoping there might be some clue there, but it was completely blank. Nothing. It wasn’t until Violet cracked open _Spellman’s Syllabary_ to a random page that she understood what the sender must have meant by “true value.”

In the margins of nearly every page were small notes scribbled in a neat, compact hand that matched the signature at the front of the book. Questions — underlines — commentary — even a few corrections, where whole sentences had been scratched out and replaced with other information. The book itself was filled with strange symbols and diagrams that went way over Violet’s head, but that wasn’t what interested her at all. It was her mother’s words that captured her attention, and held it well into the day. Violet curled back up in her bed and arranged the three books around her, and stayed there until the sun went down.

 

“There you are!”

Violet had just emerged from the dungeons into the entrance hall, and had barely just looked up at the sound of footsteps running toward her before she was nearly bowled over by the force of Harry knocking into her with a great Christmas hug.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Harry said, and shoved a large, squashy package into her hands. “Here — it’s from Ron’s mum.”

Violet, flushing, nervously tore open the package. Inside was a hand-knit sweater in emerald green, with a large grey ‘V’ emblazoned on the front. Violet held it out and stared at it, and realized that Harry was wearing an identical sweater, only with an ‘H’ on the front of his. She hurriedly pulled it over her head, delighted by how warm and soft it was.

“Thanks,” she told Ron, blushing. He was also wearing a sweater of his own.

“I’ve got something to show you,” Harry said suddenly, but looked uncertainly at Tracey.

“I’ve got something to show you, too,” Violet told him, “but not out here.”

The four of them scurried off in search of an empty room where they wouldn’t be bothered and eventually shut themselves inside of an empty classroom. Violet noticed now that Harry had some sort of bundle tucked under his arm. As soon as the door was locked behind them, he unfurled it to reveal something fluid and silvery grey.

“Watch this,” he said excitedly, and threw the thing over his shoulders. Violet let out a gasp.

Harry’s body had completely vanished from view. Only his head, with his little grinning face, remained visible, hovering in the air over where his shoulders ought to be. Violet immediately reached out for him. Her hand pressed solidly against his chest.

“That’s brilliant,” she said quietly. Suddenly, Tracey grabbed hold of her arm and shook her.

“Show them yours!” she said eagerly.

“You got one _too_?” Ron said, sounding shocked, but Violet shook her head.

“It’s not the same,” she told him, pulling her necklace over her head and struggling to unfasten it. “Give me a second — alright, look —”

Violet slipped the strange ring over her middle finger, and both Ron and Harry gave a shout of alarm.

“Bloody hell. . . you look like a _ghost_.”

“She can walk through walls!” Tracey blurted, and everyone turned to look at her, especially Violet. Tracey shrugged “Well, you can _probably_ walk through walls. I put my hand through you earlier, didn’t I?”

Ron immediately stepped forward and put his fist straight through Violet’s belly. He screamed and pulled back.

“It _is_ like a ghost! All cold and everything! Whoa. . . that’s _weird. . ._ ”

He reached for Violet again, but this time she was the one to pull away. It felt incredibly odd to have someone’s hand go _through_ her and she wasn’t keen to do it again.

“Does it hurt?” Harry’s head asked, mouth hanging open.

“Not really — it tingles more than anything.”

“Try walking through that desk!” Ron said, pointing behind her.

After a few moments to steel herself, Violet took a deep breath and made three long, purposeful strides toward the desk. Just like passing from platform nine to platform nine and three-quarters, her body moved smoothly through what should have been a solid object and passed cleanly out the other side. When she turned back around to face them, triumphant, Tracey began clapping. Ron’s eyes were nearly bugging out of his head.

“Blimey, you two are lucky. . .”

“That’s not all I got, though,” Violet said, and told Harry about the three books that had been left to her, and what was inside of them. They compared the notes that had come with their presents — the cloak and ring were clearly from the same person, but nobody could say who the books had come from.

“I can show them to you later tonight,” Violet told her brother’s head. “It’ll be a lot easier to sneak out of the common room with these — we can meet up back here. Maybe we can even go exploring.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up.

“ _You_ want to go exploring?” he said, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But, Violet — isn’t that _dangerous_?”

Violet gave him a whack on his invisible shoulder.

They put their special presents away before leaving the classroom, heading back in the direction of the delicious smells wafting from the Great Hall.

Never in all their lives had the twins had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce — and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their paper hats inside. Violet pulled a wizard cracker with Tracey and it didn’t just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from inside exploded a rear admiral’s hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointy wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Gemma Farley nearly broke a tooth on a silver Sickle embedded in her bite. Violet watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Violet’s amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Violet finally left the table, she was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and her very own tiny, flying broomstick. The white mice had disappeared and Violet had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris’s Christmas dinner.

Violet and Tracey joined Harry and the Weasleys in a furious snowball fight on the grounds for the rest of the afternoon. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fires of their respective common rooms, where Violet tied a string of tinsel to her new miniature broomstick and set it flying around the room above their heads.

It had been Violet’s best Christmas day ever. She was warm in her new Weasley sweater, full from a fantastic dinner, and overwhelmed with the amount of kindness she’d received that day. She leaned back in her bed, staring happily up at the underside of the canopy, and suddenly remembered that she had somewhere she was supposed to be.

Silently, Violet swung her legs out of bed and pulled her socks and slippers back on. She grabbed one of the books that had belonged to her mother — it would have been too heavy, trying to carry all three — and made her way into the common room. There was a figure bunched up on the sofa, but they appeared to be sound asleep in front of the dying fire. Violet took off her necklace once more and slipped the silver ring onto her finger.

The solid door of the common room stood in front of her, closed and tightly sealed. Violet took a deep breath, held it, and walked right through out into the corridor.

She came out the other side with a gasp. It was such a _strange_ feeling, like being doused in a shower of cold water only remaining completely dry. Her entire body tingled, and when she looked down at her hands it took a moment for them to come into focus.

When Violet passed through the door of the empty classroom without opening it, she heard a sharp gasp. A moment later, Harry’s head appeared floating in the air again.

“So you _can_ go through walls!” he whispered in awe. “What does it feel like?”

“A bit fuzzy,” Violet told him, scrunching up her nose. “It’s not _painful,_ but it’s not like I don’t feel anything at all when I do it.”

She handed Harry the book she’d been clutching all the way from the common room. It too was shimmery and translucent, but as soon as it left her gasp it solidified back into its usual form. Harry’s hand stuck out from beneath his cloak, looking absurd as he quickly flipped through the first few pages. He stared at the name in the front, running his fingers over the long dried ink.

“Her writing looks a bit like yours, doesn’t it?” Violet said quietly. Harry nodded.

“I suppose it does. . . what are these symbols, though? What class is this supposed to be for?” He shut the book and examined the cover. “ _Numerology and Grammatica_?”

“I don’t know either,” said Violet, “but the others look pretty advanced, too. She must have been smart.”

“Like you, then,” Harry said. Violet flushed. He handed the book back to her with a soft smile. “You’ll probably get more out of these than I ever would.”

Violet thought her brother was selling himself too short, but Harry had already flipped his cloak back over his head and vanished entirely from view. Violet blinked and looked back stupidly. Something grabbed her hand — Harry.

“Let’s explore!”

 

Harry’s idea of “exploring” turned out to be breaking into the Restricted Section of the library and looking for information on Nicolas Flamel. Violet bit her spectral lip, not wanting to tell him what’s she’d already found out and also not wanting to confess that she’d been keeping the information from him.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry had been clever enough to bring a lamp with him, and lit it as they walked silently between the rows — on their way through the halls Violet had realized that her footsteps made no sound at all no matter how fast she moved.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Harry stepped carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library while Violet passed right through it, and held the lamp up to read the titles.

They didn’t tell them much, even though Violet was half-heartedly looking. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages the twins couldn’t understand. Some had no titles at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood, and several books were chained to the shelves. The hairs on the back of Violet’s neck prickled. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but she though a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn’t be.

Finally, Harry made a selection on where to start. Setting the lap down carefully on the floor, he grabbed a large black and silver volume and pulled it down with some difficulty, as it looked very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, blood curdling shriek split the silence — the book was screaming! Violet clapped her hands over her ears and Harry snapped the book shut, but the shriek went on and on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. Harry stumbled backward and knocked over their lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, and because they heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside, the twins stuffed the shrieking book back on the shelf and ran for it. Violet dashed blindly through rows of bookshelves, catching glimpses of a figure as she passed through layers of wood and leather and bound paper, until she finally came to a halt back out in the corridor, feeling very dizzy and disoriented. Something grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled.

“Come on!” said Harry’s voice. Violet went.

They sprinted together down the corridor, so panicked that they weren’t paying attention to where they were going. Perhaps because it was dark, Violet didn’t recognize where they were at all. They came to a sudden halt in front a suit of armor, and she knew there was one like it near the kitchens, but they must be five floors above there.

“You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library — Restricted Section.”

Violet felt the blood drain out of her face. Whenever they were, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer and, to their horror, it was Snape who replied, “The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch them.”

Violet heard a rustling and suddenly something sheer and silky was thrown over her head — Harry had pulled her under the cloak with him, and the pair of them stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn’t see the twins, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they’d knock right into Harry — they might pass through Violet, but the cloak didn’t stop _him_ from being solid.

Moving as one, the twins backed away as quietly as possible. A door stood ajar to their left. It was their only hope. They squeezed through it, holding their breath, and to their relief managed to get inside without either adult noticing. Filch and Snape walked straight past, and the twins leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before the pair of them noticed anything about the room they had hidden in.

It looked like another classroom — not just empty this time, but unused. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket — but propped against the wall facing them was something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just putt there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafry oyt on wohsi._

Violet stepped out from beneath the invisibility cloak and took the ring off of her finger. Her body felt very wobbly and would have really liked to sit down, but all the chairs were put away. Harry slipped the cloak off of his shoulders and appeared suddenly beside her. He was breathing heavily.

“What’s this doing here?” he asked, walking up to the mirror as Violet tried to steady herself against the wall. Suddenly, Harry gasped.

“What?” she asked, watching him spin in place, looking between himself and the mirror. “Harry? Are you alright?”

Harry wasn’t answering her. He was staring straight into the mirror now, his hands waving in the air around him as though he was feeling for something that wasn’t there. Violet, now very concerned, pushed herself upright and padded across the floor to stand beside her brother. Suddenly she understand his behavior.

The pair of them were not alone in the mirror. Reflected behind them were at least ten others, men and women, all of them smiling and a few waving happily. Violet whipped around — the room behind them was empty, but when she turned back to the mirror everyone was still there.

“Do you see them?” Harry asked, dropping his hands to his sides. Violet nodded numbly.

There was a young woman standing right behind Harry, smiling and waving. She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes — _her eyes are just like mine_ , Violet thought with a start. Harry was already taking another step toward the mirror, hand outstretched, and she had no choice but to follow him. Bright green — exactly the same shape, then she noticed that the woman was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her, right behind Violet, put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry’s did. His smile was very kind, and he too was crying.

The twins were so close to the mirror now that their noses were nearly touching that of their reflections.

“Mum?” Harry whispered. “Dad?”

The man and woman just looked at them, smiling. And slowly, Violet looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like hers, other noses like hers, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees — Violet and Harry were looking at their family, for the first time in their lives.

The Potters smiled and waved at the twins and they stared hungrily back a them, hands pressed flat against the glass. Violet, struck with a thought, jammed the ring back onto her finger and put her hand straight through the glass, reaching for the shape of her mother — but no hand met hers. Only the cold stone of the wall on the other side of the mirror. She stepped back. There was a powerful ache inside of her, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long the twins stood there, they didn’t know. The reflection did not face and they looked and looked until a distant noise brought them back to their senses. They couldn’t stay there, they had to find their way back to their beds. Violet tore her eyes away from her mother’s face and grabbed hold of Harry’s hand.

“We’ll come back,” she whispered to the images of her parents, and hurried from the room.

 

The next night, Violet was already seated in front of the mirror when an invisible Harry pushed his way through the door and dropped the cloak, revealing Ron beneath it as well. Violet got to her feet at once.

“You told him?” she asked incredulously — she hadn’t said a word to Tracey about her and Harry’s adventure the night before and had absolutely no plans to. This was supposed to be _their_ secret.

“I wanted Ron to see our family,” Harry said, “and I wanted to see his too.”

“I told him you could just come round this summer,” Ron grumbled. He was visibly shivering, and looked very tired. “Bloody hell, that’s a big mirror. . .”

“Here, stand here —”

Harry grabbed Ron and pushed him in front of the mirror, blocking Violet’s view completely with their backsides. She got to her feet, annoyed.

“Whoa!” Ron exclaimed.

“Can you see them?” Violet asked, coming to stand beside them. But with Ron in front of the mirror, she could only see him reflected into his paisley pajamas.

“Look at me!” he said.

“Can you see all your family standing around you, too?” asked Harry.

“No — I’m alone — but I’m different — I look older — and I’m Head Boy!”

“ _What?”_ the twins said together.

“I am — I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to — and I’m holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup — I’m Quidditch captain, too!”

Ron tore his eyes away from the mirror to look excitedly at the twins.

“Do you think this mirror shows the future?”

“How can it?” Violet said crossly. “All our family are dead — let me have another look —”

“You’ve already been looking, you had it to yourselves all last time, give me a bit more time.”

“You’re only holding the Quidditch Cup, what’s interesting about that? I want to see my parents.”

“Don’t push me —”

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn’t realized how loudly they had been talking.

“Quick!” Ron threw the cloak over all three of them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came around the door. They all stood quite still, thinking much the same thing — did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

“This isn’t safe — she might have gone for Filch. I bet she heard us. Come on.”

And Ron pulled the twins out of the room.

 

They snow still hadn’t melted the next morning.

“Want to play Exploding Snap?” said Tracey.

“No.”

Violet’s voice was barely audible — she was sitting cross legged in bed wearing her ring, with Crookshanks occupying the space where her lap ought to be. He’d been having a grand old time, walking back and forth through her middle.

“Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?”

“No. . . you go. . .”

Tracey let out a huff.

“You really shouldn’t wear that thing so much, Violet. You don’t know what it can do.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly _not_. . .” Tracey snapped, and then pursed her lips. She hopped out of her bed and headed toward the door. “I’m going to see if Gemma’s nicked any more pasties from the Great Hall. You can come with, if you like.”

Violet shook her head, and remained right where she was, shimmering fingers stroking over Crookshanks’ back. Tracey huffed again and let the door close behind her. Violet still hadn’t told her about the mirror, or what she’d seen in it. Unlike Harry, she didn’t feel the need to go blabbing about everything to her friends — especially when it didn’t concern them.

 

That third night she found her way more quickly than before. She glided through the halls without a sound, ducking into walls and through statues whenever she heard the slightest hint of a noise nearby.

And there were her mother and father smiling at her again, and one of her grandmothers was nodding happily. Violet sand down on the floor in front of the mirror. She was there, just looking, for nearly an hour before Harry joined her. She put out her hand and he took it, and they leaned against one another’s shoulders. There was nothing to stop them from staying here all night with their family. Nothing at all.

Except —

“So — back again, children?”

Violet felt as though her insides had turned to ice. The twins looked behind them. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other that Albus Dumbledore. He must have been there for ages. Harry must have walked right past him when he came in.

“I — we didn’t see you, sir.”

“Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,” said Dumbledore, and the twins were relieved to see that he was smiling.

“So,” said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor beside them, “you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

“We didn’t know that’s what it was called, sir,” Violet said quietly.

“But I expect you’ve realized by now what it does?”

“It — well — it shows us our family —”

“And it showed Mr. Weasley himself as Head Boy.”

“How did you know —”

“I don’t need a cloak or a ring to become invisible,” said Dumbledore gently. “Now, can you think what the Mirror or Erised shows us all?”

Harry and Violet shook their heads.

“Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?”

Violet thought. Then she said slowly, “It shows us what we want. . . whatever we want. . .”

“Yes and no,” said Dumbledore quietly. “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, more desperate desire of our hearts. You two, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of them all. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

“The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, children, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don’t you put on those admirable accessories of yours and get off back to bed?”

Harry stood up.

“Sir — Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you’ve just done so,” Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks. One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

Even as Dumbledore pushed himself to his feet, Violet remained seated on the floor. She stared up at him.

“I’ve never seen my mother before,” she whispered, and realized that she was crying. “If I leave now — I’ll never see her again, will I?”

Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes looked into hers, filled with an emotion that Violet could not begin to describe. He extended a spindly, weathered hand toward her, and Violet took it with her own small, shaking hand. Dumbledore pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

It was only when she was back in bed that it struck Violet that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful about what he’d seen in the mirror. Perhaps, for a man that old and powerful and wise, he would understand better than anyone the amount of strength it took for her to get up and make herself walk away.


	12. Sneaking Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

Dumbledore had convinced the twins not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas Holidays the Ghost Ring stayed affixed to its cord and tucked safely under Violet’s shirt. Violet wished she could forget what she’d seen in the mirror as easily, but she couldn’t. She’d started having nightmares. Over and over she dreamed about her parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

It wasn’t until Cassius returned the day before term that Violet finally broke down, gathered him and Tracey together, and told them everything that had happened.

“I would have come with you,” Tracey said quietly, looking hurt, but Cassius just shook his head.

“Nah, it’s best that you didn’t. And it’s best you forget about it, too, Violet. We’ve been studying magical artifacts in Defense Against the Dark Arts before break — something like that must be powerful, and ancient. You’re lucky that nightmares are the worst you’ve gotten out of it.”

The one good thing about their adventures with the Mirror of Erised was that Harry seemed to have given up of trying to find out who Nicolas Flamel was. That, and he was now so busy with Quidditch practice he no longer had time to worry about it. One evening Violet quietly made her way back to the library and returned the enormous history book she’d been hiding under her bed for a month, feeling quite secure that her brother wouldn’t bother looking in it.

Unfortunately, Violet was wrong.

“We found him!” Harry exclaimed, throwing himself down beside her at the breakfast table. He thrust something into her hand. “Nicolas Flamel, Vi, we  _ found _ him!”

Violet stared down at the Chocolate Frog card bearing Dumbledore’s likeness — the same one that they had gotten on the Hogwarts Express, with the name Nicolas Flamel right there in the description. Violet smiled tightly.

“That’s great, Harry.”

“And we know what the dog’s guarding,” he whispered frantically, leaning in close to keep the other Slytherins from hearing. “ _ It’s the Philosopher’s Stone _ !”

Now Violet’s heart truly sank. She’d been too careless — they’d found the book after all.

“Do you really think Dumbledore would keep something like that in a the school?” she asked, hoping to yet deter him, but Harry just looked at her with a reproachful expression.

“Hagrid told us that Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world — and it  _ must _ be safer than Gringotts since someone really did try to break in to get to the stone.”

“So you think  _ Snape _ broke into Gringotts?” Violet asked skeptically, and Harry at least had the sense to draw up short at that one.

“Well. . . maybe he’s working with someone else?”

“Or maybe you’re wrong about him.”

“How can you say that? He’s  _ evil, _ and he’s up to something, I just know it!”

Violet shoved her half-empty plate away from her and stood up. She grabbed her books and threw a glare at her brother.

“The only one who’s up to something is  _ you _ , Harry. Maybe you should learn to leave things well enough alone.”

And then she stalked off toward her next class, leaving Harry sitting at the Slytherin table all by himself.

 

While Harry was content to throw himself into any ridiculous conspiracy that he and his friends could come up with, Violet threw herself into her school work.

Professor Flitwick had loudly proclaimed her to a Charms Prodigy — while learning to cast the Softening Charm Violet was successful on only her second try, and managed to make the vase they were practicing on so springy that it bounced all the way to the ceiling, and took three other students to help catch it. She’d managed to finish all the reading that McGonagall required before they could begin learning a new incantation, and got full marks on her written summary. And in Potions, despite having to pry Harry’s attention away from watching Snape’s every move rather than focusing on the bubbling cauldron in front of them, Violet was sitting at the top of the class grade-wise — much to the annoyance of Hermione Granger.

There had been several remarks comparing her to Hermione, and Violet didn’t care for it at all. She didn’t  _ want _ to compared to someone else. She wanted to stand out on her own merit.

It was bad enough that Hermione was just as smart as her. Maybe even smarter, but Violet wouldn’t allow herself to entertain that thought for long. She could only hope that some of that smarts rubbed off on Harry. Heavens knew he could use it.

Then again, perhaps Violet could use a bit more of it as well.

One day after Potions class, when Harry had been particularly annoying, she decided to take matters into her own hands and put her brother’s suspicions to rest.

Violet lingered after class, waiting until everyone had gathered their things and filtered out. She waved away Harry and Tracey, who looked back at her from the doorway, and made her way up to the front of the classroom where Professor Snape was magically cleaning the remnants of his demonstration.

“Sir?” she said, stopped a few feet behind him. Snape glanced over his shoulder at her.

“Make it quick, Potter,” Snape said, “my next class requires a large amount of preparation.”

“I won’t take up much of your time, sir,” said Violet quickly, taking a step closer. “I only have a question — it’s about something I’ve been reading.”

“Go on.” He waved his wand, and the fine droplets that had bubbled over from his cauldron lifted themselves from the surface of the table and disappeared. Violet took a deep breath.

“It’s about the Philosopher’s Stone, sir.”

Snape went completely still.

“I’ve only found mentions of it and what it can do,” she pressed quickly, “but there’s nothing about how it was made or who came up with it in the first place. I thought something as amazing as the Stone would be documented better, but maybe I’m just looking in the wrong place. Is there anything that you can tell me about the Philosopher's Stone, Professor?”

It took a moment for Snape to turn around and face her. He lowered his wand and straightened up, his spine and shoulders rigid, and when he looked at her with those cold black eyes Violet felt what little resolve she’d worked up crumble into dust.

“You must be quite the advanced reader, Miss Potter, to have found mention of the Stone at all,” Snape said softly, watching her. “I wonder why a first-year like yourself would take an interest in such High magics?”

“I —” Violet swallowed. “I just think it’s neat.”

Snape’s nostrils flared slightly.

“Is that so? Well — there is little that I am able to tell you. Texts on the subject are rare, as you might imagine. Information on such a powerful and controversial discovery has been strictly controlled over the centuries. I doubt the Hogwarts library carries anything definitive on the matter, even in the Restricted Section.” His eyes narrowed. “Which you are  _ forbidden _ from entering.”

“Of course, sir,” Violet squeaked. She deeply regretted starting this conversation — she had the sickly suspicion that Snape could see right through her, even without her putting on her ring. “I was just curious, and you always seem so — er — knowledgeable about. . . things. So I thought I’d ask.”

Snape stared at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into her with such intensity that Violet could feel herself sweating even in the chill of the dungeon. Finally, when she thought she wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, Snape blinked and looked away. He turned back to cleaning up his desk.

“Go to lunch, Miss Potter,” he said flatly, waving his wand and sending three half-empty jars of liquid floating neatly back onto their shelves. “And next time you have questions on such a complex subject, see me in my office. Perhaps we’ll have more time to speak on the matter.”

Outside, the sounds of footsteps and voices were beginning to echo down the hall. The next class was arriving. Violet stammered out a thank you and another sorry and darted out the door and up the stairs.

Her heart was hammering all the way through lunch. She barely heard a word Tracey and Cassius said, she was so busy running her conversation with Snape over and over in her mind.

The whole point of speaking to him was to put to rest Harry’s suspicions, but she knew that if she went and told her brother any of what had been said it would only make things worse. Snape hadn’t given her any answers, only more questions.

 

As the days slipped past and Harry’s first Quidditch game of the season drew closer, Harry came to Violet one morning with what he obviously considered to be dire news.

“Snape’s refereeing,” he told her solemnly, which caused Violet to nearly choke on her morning pumpkin juice. Not because she shared Harry’s fear that Snape was out to kill him, but because the idea of Professor Snape in his billowing black cloak with his long black hair whipping around his face was unreasonably hilarious to her.

“It’s not funny!” Harry said, but Violet only laughed harder.

And she was right, too — the day of the match she sat in the stands with Tracey, Cassius, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, and tried not to snort at the sight of Snape mounting his broomstick. He  _ did _ look very angry, but Violet still refused to believe that he could any intentions of murdering Harry. Especially not with Dumbledore sitting prominently in the crowd.

It was Quirrell that she kept her eyes on through Tracey’s borrowed binoculars, and as the game started she planned to keep a watchful eye on him if anything funny were to happen to Harry or his broom again.

“I’ve never seen Snape look so mean,” Ron said, as the players were shaking hands on the field. “Look — they’re off. Ouch!”

Violet looked around to see what had hurt him. It was Malfoy.

“Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there.”

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

“Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone wanna bet? What about you,  _ other _ Potter?”

Violet didn’t answer. Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him.

“You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?” said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, when Gryffindor had earned themselves yet another penalty. “It’s people they feel sorry for. See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.”

“I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,” Violet heard Neville stammer, and tore her eyes away from the binoculars to beam encouragingly at him. But Malfoy wasn’t through making a nuisance of himself.

“Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.”

“I’m warning you, Malfoy — one more word —”

“You realize you’re outnumbered, don’t you, mate?” Cassius said, glaring at Malfoy, who just scoffed at him.

“What, you’re on  _ their _ side, then? Some Slytherin you are, threatening one of your own to protect one of these fools.”

“Harry — !” Violet exclaimed loudly; her brother had just gone onto a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd as he streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

“You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!” said Malfoy.

Someone jostled Violet’s shoulder as they shot to their feet, presumably Ron, and she could hear a loud scuffle taking place behind her. Her eyes remained fixed to her binoculars, and to Harry, who was now speeding directly at Snape. She gasped as Snape turned his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches — the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

Violet was already rushing down the stands as Harry jumped off his broom, ignoring the whirl of fists that was Ron, Crabbe, Goyle, and Neville. She made it onto the field just as Harry was being hoisted into the air on the shoulders of his teammates, carrying him around the pitch and singing loudly. Even though this win put Gryffindor in the lead for the Quidditch championship, Violet couldn’t let herself feel disappointed at all. Not when Harry looked so happy.

It wasn’t until later that she even got close enough to speak to him.

“That was brilliant,” she said, startling Harry as he stepped out of the Gryffindor team’s locker rooms. “Five minutes — shortest game on record, or so I heard.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning. He looked flushed and excited, but also tired. He’d changed out of his scarlet Quidditch robes but was still carrying his broomstick in one hand. Violet pointed to it.

“Fancy letting me have another go on that?”

A few moments later, Violet was soaring around above the broom shed, practicing her swerves and dives that Madam Hooch had been teaching them. The Nimbus Two Thousand was much more responsive than any of the old school brooms — Violet felt almost as though it was  _ too _ touchy for her to handle, considering what she was used to. But it felt good to be up in the air, at least. The view was beautiful — Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun.

Violet had just completed an impulsive loop-the-loop when she heard Harry calling her name from below. She looked down and saw him gesturing frantically for her to land.

“Budge up,” he said, climbing on in front of her when she touched down, “hold on to me, and be quiet.”

“Where are we —”

“Shh!”

Harry kicked off quickly, and Violet had no choice but to wrap her arms around his middle and hang on for dear life. It felt very different to be flying without actually being in control. She decided she didn’t like it at all.

It took over a minute for Violet to realized what it was Harry was doing. There was a cloaked figure on the ground below, moving at a fast pace toward the edge of the forbidden forest. Harry was following right above and behind them, clearly in pursuit. Did he mean to follow them straight into the trees? Violet’s stomach clenched with nerves — it looked like that’s exactly what Harry meant to do, with her along for the ride.

The dark figure slipped into the treeline at a run, and Harry glided right in after them.

The trees were so thick she couldn’t see where the figure had gone, or even where they were. It was dark and cold even in the highest reaches of the forest, and the sun seemed to be setting at an alarming rate as the two of them circled lower and lower. Suddenly Harry slowed and stopped — Violet heard voices.

“Don’t make a sound,” Harry breathed over his shoulder, and took the broom downward. He landed noiselessly in the upper branches of a towering beech tree.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood two figures. One of them was Professor Quirrell and the other, as Violet was shocked to see now that his hood had been dropped, was Professor Snape. Quirrell’s back was to them so they couldn’t see his face, but the turban and stammer gave him right away.

“. . .d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus. . .”

“Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,” said Snape, his voice icy. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.”

Violet’s stomach lurched. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”

“B-b-but Severus, I ——”

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking a step toward him. Violet shrank back, frightened even at this distance. She had always known that Snape had a sour disposition, but never had she seen him like this — threatening, and dangerous.

“I-I don’t know what you —”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. Violet strained to hear what was being said below, and heard Snape say, “ — your little bit of hocus-pocus. I’m waiting.”

“B-but I d-d-don’t —”

“Very well,” Snape cut in. “We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie.”

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Violet could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though petrified.

The twins remained in the tree, perfectly still and barely breathing, until Professor Quirrell also made his way out of the clearing. Finally, when the coast was clear, Harry let out a deep breath.

“I  _ told _ you,” he hissed to Violet, eyes blazing with renewed frenzy. “Snape’s after the Stone, I  _ know _ he is, and Quirrell must be trying to hold him off, or Snape needs his help but he won’t do it, or —”

“Stop it, Harry,” Violet said sharply, cutting him off. Harry blinked at her, startled.

She didn’t want to talk about all of that right now. She didn’t know what had just happened or what any of it meant, but she was now forced to consider that maybe Professor Snape wasn’t as innocent in all of this as she’d first thought. The way he’d moved towards Quirrell, and that dark look on his face. . .

_ You don’t want me as your enemy. _

Violet shivered in a way that had little to do with the cold.

“Take us back to the castle,” she said quietly, pulling her robes tighter around herself. “I don’t want to be out here in the dark.

 

That night, when all the other girls had fallen asleep and Pansy Parkinson’s snoring filled the dormitory, Violet hopped out of her bed and stepped silently across the floor, and crawled in beside Tracey. The other girl woke with a small start, but relaxed, though looking a bit confused, when she realized that it was Violet.

“What’s the matter?” she asked sleepily, scooting over to make more room. The sheets were warm with body heat — Violet didn’t realize until then how much she missed sharing a bed with her brother, or anyone at all that was warm enough. But the heat wasn’t what she’d come over here in the middle of the night for.

After a moment of silence to collect her thoughts, Violet told Tracey about everything that had happened lately — Harry’s obsession, her conversation with Snape, the significance of the Philosopher’s stone and the suspicion about it being what Hagrid had taken from Gringotts all those months ago, what she’d seen during the Quidditch match, and the conversation that she and Harry had spied on in the woods. It was already very late, and at times Violet couldn’t tell if Tracey was even awake or not, but by the end of her story a pair of wide, brown eyes were gleaming back at her in the darkness.

“So who do you think is the one trying to steal this Stone?” Tracey asked quietly, after several long moments of silence. “Snape or Quirrell?”

“I — I don’t know,” confessed Violet. “I thought it must be Quirrell, after what he did to Harry’s broom, but now. . . I don’t know what to think. I don’t know who to  _ trust _ anymore.”

Tracey shifted slightly, the mattress moving underneath them — Violet felt pudgy fingers on her shoulder, then her arm, and then eventually slipping into her hand. Tracey’s eyes found hers in the near pitch-dark.

“You can trust  _ me _ , you know. Next time something like this happens, I’d like to know what’s going on, Violet. I want to help — if I can. I might just get in the way, but. . . we’re friends, yeah? Friends look after each other. You can’t just go on looking after yourself forever.”

Tears welled up in Violet’s eyes. She nodded wordlessly, embarrassed and guilty and grateful all at once. She’d never had a friend to look out for her before. It was an odd concept, but one that sent a strange warmth flowing through her. Maybe she didn’t have to do everything by herself after all. 

The next morning, Violet woke to Tracey sitting up and stretching. She still hadn’t returning to her own bed.


	13. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

In the weeks that followed the encounter in the forest, Violet’s perception of who was evil and who was not didn’t seem to be getting any clearer.

Professor Quirrell looked to be getting thinner and paler, and Snape’s temper grew worse and worse, but if one of them was truly after the Stone then they obviously hadn’t gotten to it just yet. Harry’s mind was so made up that she couldn’t talk to him about any of it without getting into an argument. Violet was still suffering from nightmares — now in addition to the cold laugh and the green flash, she was starting to see visions of a figure looming at her from the shadows. Sometimes it was Quirrell, grinning and victorious, clutching a gleaming gemstone; other times it was Dumbledore, promising safety only for Violet to draw close to him and find him to be a gaunt skeleton with dark pits instead of eyes; worst of all was the shadow of Professor Snape, coming toward her with that terrible expression on his face. And to make everything just that much harder, the teachers had been piling so much homework on them that Violet barely even had time for what little sleep she was getting. It was difficult to dwell on matters of life and death when you were supposed to be able to recite the twelve uses for dragon’s blood from memory in front of the whole class.

The one bright spot was the new strength of Violet’s friendship with Tracey.

It was strange at first, coming to someone else besides Harry with her problems. After a lifetime of  _ only _ having her brother to rely on Violet struggled with opening up and letting her fears be known — it made her feel vulnerable and weak and she didn’t care for that one bit. But Tracey was a good listener, and didn’t laugh when Violet told her about the nature of her dreams.

It had become a habit to wait until the rest of the dormitory to fall silent with sleep before climbing out of her own bed and into Tracey’s. Tracey had no siblings, and didn’t quite know how to share a mattress without kicking, but Violet was used to making herself small and being out of the way. It was more than the warmth that she’d missed — the sound of another breathing, the little accidental bumps in the throws of sleep. If not for the bad dreams, Violet was sleeping better than now than since first coming to Hogwarts.

Cassius had also gotten used to Violet’s little quirks and acts of affection. He no longer stiffened up when hugged, and once he even patted Tracey awkwardly on the back during an embrace. He’d also stopped shifting away when Violet tried to lean on him during meal times. Slowly, and with a little bit of practice, the three of them were getting comfortable with one another.

“All right, run through with me.”

“Oh, not  _ again _ .”

“C’mon, you’ll need to know this backward and forward. McGonagall doesn’t teach anything that she doesn’t plan to test you on later, don’t forget that. One more time.”

Violet, Tracey, and Cassius were in the Slytherin common room, going over material that Cassius assured them would be on their first year exams. He’d been drilling them on the stages of the transfiguration formula for the better part of the afternoon. Tracey was very bored.

“The first variable, abbreviated as ‘(a)’, is bodyweight,” she started with a dramatic sigh. “The second, ‘(v)’, is viciousness, third is wand power, or ‘(w)’, and also concentration, ‘(c)’, and the fifth variable, ‘(z)’, is —”

“. . . get Potter and his little friends. . .”

A snippet of conversation pulled Violet’s attention away from their studies. It was her own surname that caught her attention, even though the topic was clearly her brother. After a quick scan of the common room her eyes landed on Malfoy, lounging in his usual spot by the fire, muttering to Crabbe and Goyle. Violet ducked her head and tried to listen in.

“. . . have to throw him out this time . . . that great oaf . . . can’t stay in that hut forever. . .”

“ _ Potter _ !”

Violet snapped back to attention. Cassius was frowning at her from across the table.

“I said it’s your turn,” he said, tapping the notes in front of her. “Go on.”

“Oh,” Violet said stupidly. “Right — er. . . the twelve uses of dragon’s blood are —”

“No, no, we finished that hours ago!” Cassius said, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I thought you were paying attention! I’ve got my own exams to be studying for, y’know, I could just leave you two to fend for yourself but here I am, out of the goodness of my little shriveled, Slytherin heart —”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” said Violet quickly. “I really was listening, at first I mean, but I —” She leaned closer to the table and lowered her voice. “I heard Malfoy talking about getting Harry thrown out, and something to do with Hagrid. I think he’s plotting something.”

“Now you sound like Harry,” Tracey teased, but her brow was creased with a little bit of worry. “Your brother has been acting weird lately, though. He’s been jumpier than usual, which is saying something.”

“He’s gotten himself out of trouble before,” Cassius sniffed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Which is impressive, considering how many times he’s gotten himself  _ into _ trouble. He really is a bit of —”

“— an idiot, yes I know, but you still don’t get to call him that,” Violet told him, a bit sharply. “Look. . . we’ve been at this for hours. Can we take a break? I want to go and see Hagrid and make sure everything’s all right. If Harry’s in trouble then he’ll know what’s going on.”

Violet and Tracey looked pleadingly at Cassius, who remained stoic for only a few moments before deflating with a great, long-suffering sigh. He stood up.

“Fine. It’s almost dinner time, anyways. We can pick this back up after we’ve eaten.”

 

Hagrid did not answer right away when Violet knocked loudly on his door, through they could all hear the frantic movement coming from inside.

“Hagrid!” she called, pounding her little fist on the door once more. “It’s only me, are you alright in there? Is Harry with you?”

There was a great rattling, like a mass of chains being shifted, and the door opened slightly. Hagrid’s hairy face could be seen through the tiny slit, his beetle-eye roving around behind the three of them before landing on their faces. He was smiling, but the expression looked rather fixed.

“Er — hullo there, Violet. Harry’s not here, haven’ seen him since this mornin’. Now’s — er —” There was a small crash and a strange squawk from inside the cabin, and Hagrid’s smile became uncomfortably wide. “— not the best time.”

He made to close the door in their faces, but Violet was quicker. She shoved her whole leg into the gap and cried, “Hagrid, wait! I heard Malfoy in the common room talking about getting Harry thrown out, and I think he’s trying to get you in trouble too! Please, what’s going on?”

Hagrid’s false smile dropped, and his face had gone very pale and slightly green.

“Malfoy,” he repeated, “that’s that little rat-faced feller, ain’t it? White hair?”

“That’s definitely him,” Tracey muttered. There was another, loud crash from inside, followed by a curious ripping sound. Violet tried to wedge herself the rest of the way through the door.

“Hold on, now,” Hagrid protested, blocking the gap with his body, but Violet had some practice getting around large men trying to block her way. She tucked her arms and chin to her chest and pushed forward, bouncing off of Hagrid’s belly and ducking under his huge arm. She straightened up behind him, standing in the middle of the hut, and stared in wide-eyed shock at the sight before her.

The whole room stank of booze and wet animal, and there were several overturned buckets on the floor oozing some foul, brownish liquid onto the floor. A burned rag was draped over the back of one of the chairs and there, hunched on the kitchen table with a mouth full of feathers, was a creature so strange and fantastic that Violet had only one guess at what it could be.

“A baby dragon,” she breathed, staring at the thing. “You’ve got a baby dragon.”

It was a long, skinny, jet black body and a pair of overlarge black wings covered in small spines. It’s bulging orange eyes were fixed on the unmoving lump in front of it, which Violet realized was part of a chicken.

Suddenly the thing turned its head, and those round eyes focused straight on Violet, standing frozen in front of it. It’s little mouth opened, revealing rows of sharp, pointed fangs, and let out another screech.

“Norbert!” Hagrid cried, and suddenly he was in front of Violet, blocking the dragon from her view and vice versa. “Easy now, Norbert, she don’t mean no harm. There, there, Mummy’s here —  _ ah! _ No biting, I’ve told yeh, none o’ that!”

“What happened to your house?” Tracey’s said, poking her head through the door with an expression of horrified awe.

Hagrid whirled around, arms out to his sides, blocking the entire kitchen table with his body. Violet could see one of his fingers bleeding.

“Nothin’ ter see here!” he said loudly as Tracey stopped in the doorway. “Just had a bit o’ trouble cookin’ dinner, that’s all.”

He laughed, a terribly unconvincing sound, and broke off with a choke when Cassius popped his head into the door as well.

“Did you blow up a chicken?” he asked warily, eyes lingering on the buckets of brown liquid. “If we promise not to tell anyone, will you let us leave without eating us?”

“ _ Cassius _ !” Violet snapped. Thankfully, Hagrid didn’t seem to have heard the boy’s comment — he looked rather preoccupied with whatever was pulling his hair at the moment.

“Does Malfoy know?” Violet asked. “Is this what he was talking about getting Harry thrown own for?”

“What, the mess?” Tracey asked, looking around. She still hadn’t seen the dragon. Hagrid looked as though he meant to keep it that way.

“He was lookin’ in through the curtains,” Hagrid finally said. “He saw, an’ he went runnin’.”

“He hasn’t told anyone,” Violet told him, trying to sound reassuring, “yet, anyways. He was bragging to Crabbe and Goyle, but they don’t do anything without his say-so. Hagrid — what on  _ earth _ are you going to do about this?”

 

At dinner, their little pocket of the Slytherin table was much quieter than usual.

Malfoy sat a few seats away from Violet, Tracey, and Cassius, and every few minutes he would glance across the hall with a nasty smirk on his pointed face.Violet knew he was looking at Harry — taunting him with what he knew, and what he had the power to do. There was more than just an expulsion on the line — for illegally breeding a dragon in his hut, Hagrid faced not only jail time and heavy fines but the loss of his home and livelihood. Malfoy could take all that away from him in an instant with a few words to the right people.

Violet felt it said a lot about Malfoy, that he hadn’t told anyone yet. He was lording it over them. He’d hold on to that power until it stopped being fun and then bring everything crashing down.

Except Violet wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I know what’s going on with Hagrid,” Violet told her brother, lingering outside the Great Hall after dinner, “and I have a plan. We have to do something before Malfoy goes and blabs.”

“Hagrid won’t let it go,” Harry said sullenly. “He says it’s too young to survive on its own.”

“Looks perfectly capable of surviving to me,” grumbled Ron, looking over his shoulder for any listening ears. “Have you seen those teeth? And it actually breathed fire this morning, not just sparks anymore. Hagrid’s mad, thinking he can keep it in a  _ wooden house _ .”

“He doesn’t have to let it go,” said Violet. “Not into the wild, at least. Ron — you’ve got a brother in Romania, right? You told us about him on the train.”

“Charlie!” Ron’s face lit up. “But that’s brilliant! He knows all about dragons, he’d  _ have _ to help.”

“Write to him, tonight,” Violet told him. “See if he can come and get the d- Norbert, and tell him to make it quick.”

 

Charlie likely made it as quick as he could, but Romania was a long way away and owls could only fly so fast.

The next week dragged by. Norbert was now eating dead rats by the crateful, and Ron and Harry and started taking turns with Harry’s Invisibility Cloak to sneak out and help Hagrid feed the thing in the middle of the night. And when Ron didn’t show up to breakfast one morning, Violet feared the worst.

_ Norbert bit him, _ read the hastily scrawled note, which Harry passed to her on their way out of class.  _ Charlie friend’s are coming Saturday, midnight. We’ll handle it. _

That was a great relief. Malfoy was getting more agitated by the day, and Violet was sure it was only a matter of time before he went to Professor Dumbledore and had Hagrid thrown out. It would be terribly sad for Hagrid, though — he was so attached to little Norbert that Violet couldn’t imagine how broken up he would be having to say goodbye to him. Although, ‘little’ was no longer an accurate description for the dragon. After Ron’s bite, Hagrid wouldn’t let any of them back into the hut. Violet could hear Norbert thrashing, making the windows and door rattle with the force of his blows, but Hagrid would never open the door any wider than a slit. Even then, Violet could see the bruises on his face and hands. The sooner Norbert was gone, the better off everyone would be.

However, the sense of relief was to be short lived.

It was Saturday, the night the plan was meant to go off, and ever since that afternoon, Malfoy had been acting even more strangely than usual. He seemed distant and on edge, as though his attention were elsewhere, and lost Slytherin several House points for not listening in class. Violet was sure he was plotting something. And that night, after watching him snap at Crabbe and Goyle before heading to bed, Violet found out that she was right.

A crumpled up piece of paper fell from Malfoy’s pocket when he rose from his seat by the fire. As soon as he was out of sight, Violet rushed over and snatched it up:

 

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter — I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love,

Charlie

 

Violet’s stomach did a flip-flop.

How did Malfoy get hold of this? How could Ron have been so careless to let something like this slip out of his grasp? The letter explained everything, from where they were meeting to what they were transporting, and incriminated Ron, Charlie, Hagrid,  _ and _ whoever Charlie’s friends were. And Malfoy knew all of it. He could have taken this straight to Dumbledore and gotten everyone in trouble hours ago — so why hadn’t he?

Likely because it just wouldn’t do it for him, knowing that someone else was to be punished. He’d want to  _ be _ there for it. He’d want to be the one getting credit for having them all locked up. But Violet wasn’t going to let any of that happen.

She decided to wait up for Malfoy in the common room. He would have to go past her to leave, and she would stop him. Somehow. So long as he was alone, and not with Crabbe and Goyle. Because then she might not be able to do anything at all, and would simply have to wave goodbye to her brother as he was sent packing.

Violet balled the letter up and chucked it into the fire, and sat down to plot how she was going to deal with Malfoy.

But as the hours ticked on, and with nothing to occupy her but her own thoughts, Violet’s eyelids began to droop. 

She was having another terrible dream: Norbert was no longer a baby but a full grown  _ dragon, _ wings spread wide enough to block out the sky as he soared above her. Hagrid’s hut seemed miles away, tiny and unreachable, and there was nothing she could do but watch as Norbert’s great shadow swooped over it and set the place aflame. Even from that impassable distance, Violet could hear Hagrid’s shouts from within the hut, his great fists banging on the door, trying to get out —

_ BANG! _

Violet jerked upright, alone in the common room. Her restless dreaming had knocked a book from the table she was sleeping on, and it was the sound of it hitting the floor that woke her. She stared at the clock

11:48 P.M. And the door to the boy’s dormitory was ajar.

Frantic, Violet shot out of her seat and tried to leave the common room, but the door was sealed — the magical curfew was in effect. She very nearly cried, before remembering the secret weapon that had been hanging around her neck all these weeks.

Her body slipped silently through the stone wall with the ring on her finger, and her footsteps made no sound at all as she sprinted up the corridor in pursuit of Malfoy. She took the stairs to the entrance hall two at a time, and then up the marble staircase, and then  _ another _ staircase. She didn’t even know where the tallest tower in the castle even  _ was _ , but there was no sense in turning back now. If she didn’t find Malfoy in time it would all be over.

She very nearly got herself caught somewhere around the fifth floor — Peeves the Poltergeist appeared suddenly at the end of the hallway, singing a little song to himself and juggling what looked to be six juicy, rotten tomatoes. To avoid him, Violet had no choice but to duck into the nearest wall. Instead of finding herself in another room, however, there was only more stone. She held her breath, waiting as long until she could stand it no longer before popping back out into the corridor.

_ That _ was something she had never done before. Walking through a wall was one thing, but remaining inside of it proved to be entirely another. Violet yanked off her ring with a gasp, her whole body tingling with that strange, fuzzy sensation she got whenever something passed through her. It wasn’t fading, and her head felt as though it was full of oatmeal. She took a few steps before staggering, putting a hand out to catch herself on the wall—

Only it wasn’t a wall that caught her. It was a wooden door, which was pulled open from the other side just as Violet leaned all her weight against it.

There was a sharp cry of alarm followed by a dull thud, and then another, louder thud as Violet fell over and hit the door herself. She scrambled upright, ready to run, but stopped when she caught sight of the person she had just knocked over. Draco Malfoy was sitting on the floor, a hand clutched to his bruised forehead.

_ “You _ !” he hissed, staring up at Violet. “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Violet snapped, trying to sound braver than she felt. She watched Draco climb angrily to his feet, standing firmly in front of him even as he tried to glare her down.

“Here to help your brother smuggle the dragon out of the castle?” Malfoy asked, sneering.

“Don’t be stupid — I’m trying to stop  _ you _ from getting in trouble.”

It was the first thing that popped into her head. She felt as shocked as Malfoy looked. Violet went with it and ran.

“You’ve already lost Slytherin too many points this week, Malfoy. If you get caught out of bed we’ll lose even more and lose a shot at the House Cup, too.”

“I’m not going to  _ lose _ us points, Potter,” Malfoy snapped, “I’m going to cost Gryffindor so many points they’ll have to drain the whole hourglass. It’s your stupid brother’s fault, not mine.”

“What are you even planning to do?” Violet said, moving to the side to stop Malfoy from getting around her. “Are you trying to get him in trouble for being out of bed?  _ You’re _ out of bed.”

“So are you,” he countered.

“They’ll have to catch me first. You, all Filch’ll have to do is follow the stench of entitlement. That, and whatever it is you put it your hair.”

Malfoy’s face darkened. He lunged forward, trying to break past her, and Violet stuck out her leg to trip him. He grabbed the sleeve of her robe, and down they went, kicking and slapping and trying to break away from one another’s holds.

They were so busy clawing at each other’s faces that neither of them heard the approaching footsteps until a lamp flickered on over their heads. Violet and Malfoy froze, and stared up at the furious, nightgown-clad visage of Professor McGonagall.

 

Ten minutes later, the two of them sat in the straight-backed wooden chairs in front of McGonagall’s desk, silently fuming.

Draco’s nose was bleeding and Violet’s lip was split, and the right sleeve of her robe had been almost completely torn off in the struggle. Violet’s face was also wet with tears — once Professor McGonagall had started yelling at them, there was little she could do to stop herself from crying. They were waiting now for Professor Snape to be gotten out of bed, so that he could come and yell at them too. The only upside of the ordeal so far had been Malfoy’s claims about Harry having a dragon being completely ignored. McGonagall wasn’t hearing a word of it, and threatened to write a letter to his parents if he didn’t drop the matter. Only then had Malfoy shut up, and had been glaring silently at his shoes ever since. Violet was convinced that this night couldn’t possibly get any worse when the door to McGonagall’s study opened, and suddenly it did.

Harry and Hermione were shoved through the door by a grinning Filch, and behind them, wearing an expression of cold fury, was Professor Snape.

“Violet!” Harry exclaimed, the moment he saw her. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“ _ None _ of you are supposed to be here, Mr. Potter,” Snape said through clenched teeth, closing the door sharply behind him. Two more hard wooden chairs were summoned from middair for Harry and Hermione, and the two professors towered over the four of them. Snape was dressed in a long grey nightshirt, and his hair looked rather messier than usual. He turned his cold gaze on each of them in term, but when he spoke it was directed to the other adult in the room. 

“It is one o’clock in the morning, and Mr Filch has told me these students were found in and near the astronomy tower. Minerva — what excuses have they made for themselves?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s been going on,” said Professor McGonagall. “Mr. Potter fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble.  _ Ms.  _ Potter set out to dissuade Mr. Malfoy from getting himself into trouble, thereby landing herself in trouble as well. And Ms. Granger —”

McGonagall paused, looking for a moment too angry to speak.

“Ms. Granger, for whatever reason, has elected to go along with this nonsense.” Professor McGonagall shook her head. Hermione looked as though all the air had gone out of her. “I’m disgusted. Four students out of bed in one night! I’ve never heard of such a thing before! Ms. Granger, I thought you had more sense than this. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this.”

“Indeed,” Snape intoned, glaring down at both Violet and Draco, “I had hoped the students of my House would exercise more self-control. This is extremely . . .  _ disappointing. _ ”

“Indeed, Severus. I will not stand for it, children  All four of you will receive detentions — yes, you too, Ms. Potter.  _ Nothing _ gives you the right to walk around the school at night, especially these days, it’s very dangerous — and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.”

“ _ Fifty _ ?” Harry gasped.

“Fifty points  _ each, _ ” said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose. “I would subtract the same from Slytherin House as well, were it my responsibility —”

“As it is not,” Snape interjected, “the power to do so falls to me. Fifty points from Slytherin as well. I will leave their detentions in your capable hands, Minerva. I’ve seen enough of these dunderheads for the night.”

Snape snapped his fingers and pointed toward the door. Draco and Violet jumped to their feet and shuffled out into the hall, Snape hot on their heels as he herded them back down to the Slytherin common room.

“A  _ dragon _ , Malfoy?” he sneered, when they had nearly reached the door. “I think you’ll deserve whatever punishment McGonagall sets you to for falling for such a ridiculous lie. You ought to thank Ms. Potter for saving you the embarrassment.”

Draco did not respond. His face was flushed a livid, angry pink, and he looked as though he might start crying as well. The door to the common room swung open without any of them speaking a word. As soon as she reached her dormitory, Violet fell forward into her bed, hugged the pillow hard to her face, and began to sob.


	14. The Forbidden Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

The school was abuzz with gossip.

At first, students passing the giant hourglasses that records the House points the next day thought there had been a mistake. How could Slytherin have lost fifty points, and how could Gryffindor, who the day before had been in the lead for the the House Cup, suddenly be down a whole  _ hundred _ points? And then the story started to spread: the Potter twins, the famous Potters, had lost their Houses all those points, them and a couple other stupid first years.

Harry definitely got the short end of the stick. He was the hero of two Quidditch matches, and until that day had been one of the most popular and admired people at the school. Violet, whose biggest claim to fame had been making a feather fly on the first go, was slightly less well known to all but the other Slytherins — not that that was any consolation. From being a rising star in her own House, Violet was suddenly thrown down to the bottom of the barrel.

She was almost glad that the exams weren’t far away. All the studying she had to do kept her mind off the misery. She, Tracey, and Cassius kept to themselves — though the two of them had been just as shocked as everyone else to hear what she’d done, they did not leave her to suffer alone — working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions. . .

Violet had been over her notes again and again, practiced her wand motions again and again, read through her course books again and again and again — she absorbed as much knowledge as she could, filling herself up with it, using her thoughts as a shield to make it through another day of whispers and jeers. When exams were over and she had the highest grades in the class, she reasoned, then no one could say she wasn’t trying.

It was also that line of thinking that drew her back to her mother’s books.

After a bit of research, Violet had finally found out what subjects the books were even meant to be covering: she’d been given advanced study materials for Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and higher level Defence Against the Dark Arts. None of these classes were available to first years, and most of the writing was very dense and difficult, but that had never stopped Violet from reading something before. And the commentary her mother had added in the margins was very helpful — Violet was grateful to see that some of the harder words had been underlined with definitions added near them, and the advanced theories were usually broken down into neat little bulleted lists that she could digest.

It was the handwriting that was most comforting, however. Short, rounded letters scrawled in slightly crooked lines, nearly blacking out the margins of some pages. It felt familiar — Violet had even started trying to copy it, changing the way she wrote her h’s and g’s to match her mothers’. She was immensely grateful to whoever had sent her these books. Though she and Harry had put the pieces together that Dumbledore was the one to thank for their more fantastic presents, neither of them could source the mysterious handwritten note that had accompanied Violet’s extra gift. Privately, Violet regarded it as the more precious of the two. She would have given up her ring in a heartbeat if it meant being closer to the memory of her mother.

She didn’t even hear the other girls come to bed that night — she was already fast asleep, open books piled around her.

 

 

The following morning, notes were delivered to Violet and Malfoy at the breakfast table. They were the same:

 

_ Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight. _

_ Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall. _

_ Professor M. McGonagall _

 

Violet had forgotten they still had detentions to do in the haze of all the studying she’d been doing. She half expected Malfoy to complain or argue that they’d already been punished enough, but he’d been oddly quiet the past few days. Word had gotten out that he was involved in the point loss as well, and many of the older students had taken to calling him out in the hallways. He no longer seemed as arrogant as before — Violet wondered if that would last.

At eleven o’clock that night, Violet said to goodbye to Tracey and Crookshanks and went up to the entrance hall with Malfoy. They hardly looked at each other let alone spoke for the whole walk. Filch was already there, along with Harry and Hermione, who waved sullenly at her.

“Follow me,” said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

“I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” he said, leering at them. “Oh yes . . . hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me . . . It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out . . . hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re ever needed . . . Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off, now, it’ll be worse for you if you do.”

They marched off across the dark grounds. Violet shivered with anxiety. She wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn’t be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Violet could see the lighted windows of Hagrid’s hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

Violet’s heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn’t be so bad. Her relief must have showed on her face, because Filch said, “I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, girl — it’s into the forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.

At this, Hermione let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

“The forest?” he repeated, and he didn’t sound quite as cool as usual. “We can’t go in there at night — there’s all sorts of things in there — werewolves, I heard.”

“That’s your problem isn’t it?” said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. “Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?”

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung at his hip.

“Abou’ time,” he said. “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. All right, you lot?”

“I shouldn’t be too friendly to them, Hagrid,” said Filch coldly, “they’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s why yer late, is it?” said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. “Bin lecturin’ them, eh? ’Snot your place ter do that. Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.”

“I’ll be back at dawn,” said Filch, “for what’s left of them,” he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid.

“I’m not going in that forest,” he said, and Violet sympathized with the note of panic in his voice. She didn’t want to go into that forest, either.

“Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,” said Hagrid fiercely. “Yeh’ve done wrong an’ now yeh’ve got ter pay fer it.”

“But this is servant stuff, it’s not something for students to do. I thought we’d be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this he’d —”

“— teh yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growled. “Copyin’ lines! What good’s that ter anyone? Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out. If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an’ pack. Go on!”

Malfoy didn’t move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

“Right then,” said Hagrid, “now, listen carefully, ’cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight, an’ I don’t want no one takin’ risks. Follow me over here at a moment.”

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

“Look there,” said Hagrid, “see that stuff shinin’ on the ground? Silvery stuff? That’s unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

“There’s nothin’ lives in this forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” said Hagrid. An’ keep ter the path. Right, now, we’re gonna split inter two parties and follow the trail in diff’rent directions. There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve been staggerin’ around since last night at least.”

“I want Fang,” said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang’s long teeth.

“All right,” but I warn yeh, he’s a coward,” said Hagrid. “So me, Harry, an’ Violet’ll go one way an’ Draco, Hermione, an’ Fang’ll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we’ll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an’ practice now — that’s it — an’ anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh — so, be careful — let’s go.”

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Violet, Harry, and Hagrid took the left path while Malfoy, Hermione, and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a way of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Violet saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

“ _ Could _ a werewolf be killing the unicorns?” Harry asked.

“Not fast enough,” said Hagrid. “It’s not easy ter catch a unicorn, they’re powerful magical creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before.”

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Violet could hear running water; there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

“You all right, Violet?” Hagrid whispered. “Don’ worry, it can’t’ve gone far if it’s this badly hurt, an’ then we’ll be able ter — GET BEHIND THAT TREE!”

Hagrid seized Harry and Violet and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out a bolt and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearbye: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

“I knew it,” he murmured. “There’s summat in here that shouldn’t be.”

“A werewolf?” Harry suggested.

“That wasn’ no werewolf an’ it wasn’ no unicorn, neither,” said Hagrid grimly. “Right, follow me, but be careful, now.”

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

“Who’s there?” Hagrid called. “Show yourself — I’m armed!”

And into the clearing came — was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse’s gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Violet and Harry’s jaws dropped.

“Oh, it’s you, Ronan,” said Hagrid in relief. “How are yeh?”

He walked forward and shook the centaur’s hand.

“Good evening to you, Hagrid,” said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful voice. “Were you going to shoot me?”

“Can’t be too careful, Ronan,” said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. “There’s summat bad loose in this forest. This Harry an’ Violet Potter, by the way. Students up at the school. An’ this is Ronan, you two. He’s a centaur.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Violet breathlessly.

“Good evening,” said Ronan. “Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?”

“Erm —”

“As much as we can,” said Violet.

“As much as you can. Well, that’s something.” Ronan sighed. He flung his head back and stared at the sky. “Mars is bright tonight.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, glancing up, too. “Listen, I’m glad we’ve run inter yeh, Ronan, ’cause there’s a unicorn bin hurt — you seen anythin’?”

Ronan didn’t answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed again.

“Always the innocent are the first victims,” he said. “So it had been for ages past, so it is now.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, “but have yeh seen anything, Ronan? Anythin’ unusual?”

“Mars is bright tonight,” Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him impatiently. “Unusually bright.”

Violet looked up now as well, struggling to make out the stars through the cover of leaves and branches. It was impossible for her to tell what or where anything was without her star chart to consult. Hagrid huffed.

“Yeah, but I was meanin’ anythin’ unusual a bit nearer home,” he said. “So yeh haven’ noticed anythin’ strange?”

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said,” The forest hides many secrets.”

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied, and wilder looking than Ronan.

“Hullo, Bane,” said Hagrid. “All right?”

“Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?”

“Well enough. Look, I’ve jus’ bin askin’ Ronan, you seen anythin’ odd in here lately? There’s a unicorn bin injured — would yeh know anythin’ about it?”

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward.

“Mars is bright tonight,” he said simply.

“We’ve heard,” said Hagrid grumpily. “Well, if either of you do see anythin, let me know, won’t yeh? We’ll be off, then.”

Violet and Harry followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

“Never,” said Hagrid irritably, “try an’ get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin’ closer’n the moon.”

“Are there many of  _ them _ in here?” asked Violed.

“Oh, a fair few . . . Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they’re good enough about turnin’ up if I ever want a word. They’re deep, mind, centaurs . . . they know things . . . just don’ let on much.”

“D’you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?” said Harry.

“Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what’s bin killin’ the unicorns — never heard anythin’ like it before.”

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Violet kept looking nervously over her shoulder. She had the nasty feeling they were being watched. She was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They had just passed a bend in the path when, from off in the trees, they heard a loud, high-pitched scream.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled. “Hagrid, they’re in trouble!”

“You two wait here,” Hagrid shouted. “Stay on the path, I’ll come back for yeh!”

They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn’t hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

“You don’t think they’ve been hurt, do you?” whispered Violet.

“I don’t care if Malfoy has, but if something’s got Hermione . . . it’s my fault she’s here in the first place.”

The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Violet’s seemed to be picking up every sigh on the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?”

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid’s return. Malfoy, Hermione, and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Hermione and grabbed her as a joke. Hermione didn’t look as though she found anything funny about the matter.

“We’ll be luck ter catch anythin’ now, with the racket you two were makin’. Right, we’re changin’ groups — Hermione, you stay with me an’ Violet, Harry, you go with Fang an’ this idiot.”

“I’m not leaving Violet,” Harry said at once, grabbing hold of her hand. Hagrid heaved a great sigh.

“Fine, then — you two with Fang, Malfoy an’ Hermione with me. All right? Everybody happy? Off we go again.”

Violet and Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Fang plodding along beside them, hands joined all the while. Violet felt far braver with Harry near than she would have without him.

They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Violet thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker as well. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Violet could see a clearing again, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

“Look —” Harry murmured, holding out his arm to stop Violet.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Violet had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. It’s long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Violet had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made her freeze where she stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered . . . Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Violet, Harry, and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal’s side, and began to drink its blood.

Violet let out a high shriek of horror before she could stop herself — and Fang bolted. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at them — unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward them — Violet couldn’t move for fear.

But then it was Harry who was screaming, letting out a terrible cry of pain even though the creature had not yet reached them. He staggered back as Violet reached for him, colliding into her and taking them both down. Violet heard hooves behind them, galloping, and something jumped clean over their heads, charging at the figure.

Violet held onto Harry as he clutched his forehead, watching in awe as a centaur stood between the two of them and whatever the creature was, stamping at the ground with his powerful hooves and driving it back. There was a high, wicked snarl from the hooded figure as it whirled and vanished back into the underbrush, slithering loudly as it went.

It took a long time for Harry to come back to his senses. When he finally opened his eyes, blinking as though blinded, the centaur had come to stand over them. It was not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blonde hair and a palomino body.

“Are you all right?” said the centaur, extending a hand to pull them each to their feet.

“I’m okay,” said Violet shakily. “Harry?”

“Yes — thank you — what  _ was _ that?”

The centaur didn’t answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry in particular, his eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, on his forehead.

“You are the Potter children,” he said. “You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time — especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.

“My name is Firenze,” he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Violet and Harry could clamber onto his back.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

“Firenze!” Bane thundered. “What are you doing? You would let these humans sit upon your back? Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

“Do you realize who this is?” said Firenze. “These are the Potter children. The quicker they leave this forest, the better.”

“What have you been telling them?” growled Bane. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?”

Ronan pawed the ground nervously. “I’m sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,” he said in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

“For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!”

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Violet had to grab on to his shoulders, and Harry had to grab onto hers, to stay on.

“Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze bellowed at Bane. “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.”

And Firenze whisked around; with the twins clutching on as best they could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Violet didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Why’s Bane so angry?” she asked.

“And what was that thing you saved us from, anyway?” Harry followed.

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned them to keep their heads bowed for low-hanging branches, but did not answer Violet or Harry’s questions. They made their way through the trees in silence. Then, as they were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, Firenze suddenly stopped.

“Potter children, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

“No,” said Harry. Violet was startled by the odd question.

“We’ve only used the horn and tail hair in potions,” she told him.

“That’s because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.”

Violet stared at the back of Firenze’s head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

“But who’d be that desperate?” Harry wondered aloud from behind her. “If you’re going to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Firenze agrees, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else — something that will bring you back to full strength and power — something that will mean you can never die. Children, do you know what it is hidden in the school at this very moment?”

“The Philosopher’s Stone!” said Violet at once. “Of course — the Elixir of Life! But I don’t understand who —”

“Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?”

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Violet’s heart. Over the rustling of the trees, she seemed to hear once more what hagrid had told them they night they met: “Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die.”

“Do you mean,” Harry croaked, understanding having hit him as well, “that was  _ Vol- _ ”

“Harry! Violet, are you alright?”

Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

“We’re fine,” said Harry. Violet whipped around to stare at him, feeling absolutely  _ not _ fine at all, but he gave her a warning shake of his head. “The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it’s in that clearing back there.”

“This is where I leave you both,” Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. “You are safe now.”

The twins slid off his back.

“Thank you,” Violet said, staring up at his towering form. He blinked slowly at her.

“Good luck, young Potters,” said Firenze. “The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.”

He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry and Violet shivering behind him.

 

Tracey had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for Violet to return. She jerked awake as the stone door slid open, and in a matter of moments was fully awake as Violet grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her into the girl’s dormitory, away from Malfoy’s prying ears.

Violet was still shaking. She grabbed her own pillow and climbed into Tracey’s bed with it, and threw the blankets over both their heads.

“He’s after the stone for Voldemort . . . Snape, or Quirrell, or maybe both . . . and Voldemort’s waiting in the forest . . . Harry was right all this time, someone was after it and I didn’t listen — I thought he was making up rubbish . . .”

“Stop saying the name!” said Tracey in a terrified whisper, as if she thought Voldemort could hear them.

Violet wasn’t listening.

“Firenze saved us, but he shouldn’t have done so . . . Bane was furious . . . he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen . . . They must know Voldemort’s coming back . . . they have to know, and Bane thinks Firenze should have let him kill us . . .”

“ _ Will you stop saying the name?”  _ Tracey hissed.

“So all I’ve got to wait for now is Quirrell to steal the stone — or Snape, if Harry was right,” Violet went on feverishly, “then Voldemort will be able to come and finish us off . . . me and Harry, just like he did our parents . . .”

Tracey looked very frightened, which wasn’t what Violet had wanted at all, but she couldn’t pull herself together enough to provide comfort or reassurance. Her body was shaking so hard it felt as though she might come apart at the seams or rattle into pieces without something to hold her together.

Without warning, Tracey flung herself at Violet. Chubby arms wrapped tight around her, holding her close beneath the blankets and soaking warmth into her frozen limbs. Almost immediately, Violet began to cry.

“V-Voldemort’s not coming to get you,” Tracey said firmly, even as her voice wavered at the name. “Dumbledore is here, and he’s the only one You-Kn-  _ Voldemort _ is afraid of, right? Well, he hasn’t met me yet, has me? He won’t touch you. I won’t let him.”

Violet only cried harder.

She cried and cried until there was nothing left in her to let out, breathing and shaking in Tracey’s arms until she finally fell asleep there. It was the safest she’d felt in months.


	15. The Man With Two Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any characters, settings, or materials associated with it. I do not and will not profit financially from this work of fanfiction, nor any of its related content. I do not take credit or gain any profit for any of the content owned and produced by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic.

In years to come, Violet would never quite remember how she had managed to get through her exams when she half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and no nightmarish figure came to steal her life away.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classrooms where they did written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tapdance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox — points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Violet did the best she could, trying to remain calm and focused even as she felt anything but. On top of her own nerves, she was deeply concerned about Harry — ever since that night in the forest he’d been complaining of headaches and sharp, stabbing pains in his forehead, right over his lightning scar. Nearly every time Violet looked over at him he had a hand to his face, trying to rub away an invisible ache. In the brief moments that they had time to speak to one another, Harry confided that he had been having new nightmares as well.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who’d invented self-stirring cauldrons and they’d be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. Then the ghost of Professor Bins told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Violet couldn’t help cheering with the rest.

“We made it!” exclaimed Tracey in glee, fairly skipping out of the classroom, a huge, metallic smile on her face. “No more studying, no more tests, no more stuffy classrooms — you could look a bit more cheerful, Violet, we’ve got a week before we find out how badly we’ve done, there’s no need to worry yet.”

“I’m not worried,” Violet grumbled, which was the truth. She’d vastly over-studied for the History of Magic exam, which covered only the basics they’d addressed in class, and even her other lessons hadn’t been nearly as taxing as Cassius made them out to be. Exam results were the least of what bothered her. “Sorry — didn’t sleep well last night.”

Tracey’s smile faded into a look of concern.

“Was it the dreams again?”

After a moment, Violet nodded.

“This one was worse than usual,” she said quietly. The pair of them shuffled off to the side of the corridor, out of the way of all the other celebrating first years. “I don’t know how to explain . . . I don’t know that I even  _ want _ to explain what it was.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Tracey asked gently, putting a hand on Violet’s arm. Violet only shrugged.

“I can’t keep waking you up just because I can’t sleep. You were tired last night, too.”

“But I want to help —”

“You  _ do _ help,” said Violet firmly. “And I’m so thankful, Tracey . . . but I can handle things by myself sometimes. This is just one of those times.”

Tracey looked conflicted, but the didn’t push the matter further. The pair of them wandered outside into the warm summer air and settled in the courtyard, relaxing in the shade of the castle. They were running over some of the trickier questions on their exams when Cassius finally joined them, his expression haggard.

“Glad that’s done with,” he grumbled, stuffing a handful of notes into his bag.

“You’re all finished, too?” Tracey asked. Cassius gave a grunt of affirmation. “How do you think you did?”

“Terrible.”

“Don’t be like that,” Violet scolded. “What was your last exam?”

“Transfiguration,” he said sourly. “Thought I was doing all right, too — McGonagall had us turning teapots into tortoiseses. Mine came out  _ looking _ fine, then it opened its mouth and breathed a bloody great cloud of steam at me . . . Rubbish. That’s points off for sure.”

“But that’s brilliant!” said Tracey. “I couldn’t even get my snuffbox to stop squeaking, and it still had ears and everything, it was  _ awful. _ Surely a bit of steam isn’t so bad?”

“Tell that to Professor McGonagall,” Cassius grumbled, but he did look a bit less angry with himself after that.

The three of them had been sitting around and chatting for a good while when Violet caught a flash of familiar movement across the courtyard — three people moving quickly in the direction of Hagrid’s hut; Ron, Hermione, and, of course, Harry.

“Where’re they off to, then?” Cassius muttered, following Violet’s line of sight.

“Hagrid’s, probably,” she said. They looked in an awful hurry. “He’ll want to know all about their exams.”

“Do you want to go see him, too?” asked Tracey, but Violet shook her head.

“Not now. It’s too hot. All I want to do is sit here.”

And so they sat, listening to the sounds of their fellows in various stages of moaning and cheering. They had a fine view of the lake from where they sat and could see the shape of the giant squid lounging in the warm shallows, its thick tentacles waving slowly on the bank. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, nor even a hint of a breeze on the air. The shade of the castle could only keep them so cool — Tracey had started using a thick stack of study notes to fan herself with.

Not even five minutes had passed when Violet’s eye was drawn, again, to the shapes of her brother and his friends rushing across the courtyard. This time they looked very worried, and hurried into the castle one after another in a line. Violet frowned after them.

“Something’s going on,” she said quietly, climbing to her feet. Cassius squinted up at her.

“Do I have to get up?”

“Yes!” Tracey urged, also rising, and stuck out a hand. “Come on, or we’ll miss it!”

“Miss  _ what? _ ” Cassius moaned, even as he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Harry losing himself even more House points? Every time a Potter runs off somewhere you know they’re getting into trouble.”

“Thanks for that,” Violet said, but grinned at him all the same. “Let’s see if we can head them off.”

Wherever Harry and his friends had been heading off to, they’d gotten there in a hurry. Violet, Tracy, and Cassius tracked up and down the corridors looking for flashes of red hair, but there was no sign of any of them until they gathered for a rest in the entrance hall. Violet was startled to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione coming down the grand staircase, all three of them wearing faces of extreme worry.

“Harry!” Violet hissed, getting her brother’s attention as she stalked towards him. “Are you all right? We saw you rushing back and forth in a hurry — what’s going on?”

“Dumbledore’s gone,” Harry told her, and Violet felt as though her blood had turned to ice in her veins. “He got a letter from the Minister of Magic and went off to London, but I’ll bet anything it was Snape that sent it to him to get him out of the way. But it  _ worked _ , Dumbledore’s not here and the Stone is unguarded! It’s got to be tonight, Violet — Snape is going to take it  _ tonight. _ ”

“You don’t know that,” Violet said numbly, “you don’t know that it’s him. It could still be —”

“We’ve just seen him now!” Harry broke in angrily, pointing back up the staircase. “He knows we’re on to him, he threatened to expel us if we’re caught wandering around again — he’s trying to scare us into staying out of it and just letting him waltz in and take the Stone, but that’s not going to happen! Whether Dumbledore’s here or not, Snape’s not getting his hands on the Stone — I won’t let him.”

Harry’s face was a mask of determination the likes of which Violet had only seen a couple of times, the most memorable of which was the first — and last — time that Dudley had hit her. Harry had put a stop to that, facing off against the much larger boy all by himself, and she knew her twin well enough to believe that he would try to face off against Snape, whatever curses or barriers were in his way, and even Voldemort himself if he had to. As much as she admired him for that, she feared for him even more.

“Harry,” she said, stepping close so that only he could hear her, “don’t go off on and do something stupid,  _ please. _ You have to tell the teachers. McGonagall will listen to you, even if Dumbledore isn’t here.”

“It’s too late for that,” said Harry grimly. “They won’t listen — the other teachers know we don’t like Snape, they’ll think I’m only trying to get him sacked. I  _ have _ to stop him, Vi.”

“It doesn’t have to be you!” she urged, grabbing both of his hands with her own. “I know how scared you are, Harry, because I’m scared, too. And if you’re wrong, or if you’re caught —”

“I don’t care!” shouted Harry, his voice ringing off the stone all around them. A few other students passing through turned to look over at them. Harry’s face flushed red, and he lowered his voice again. “Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won’t be any Hogwarts to get expelled from, he’ll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! D’you think he’ll leave us alone then? No — if I get caught, well, we’ll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find us there, and it’s only dying a bit later than we would have! He killed our parents, Violet! Voldemort killed them, remember?”

Violet did remember. Tears had started rolling down her cheeks, tears of fear and anger as he brother’s words went on, striking her to her core. Harry yanked his hands from hers and pushed past, Ron and Hermione following sullenly behind him, while Violet and Tracey and Cassius were left standing there in shock.

 

As the day wore on and the brilliant summer sky darkened to a chilly evening, Violet had not been able to find a single moment of stillness.

Her heart had been pounding since the confrontation with Harry on the stairs. Her eyes felt dry and gritty from crying so hard, and now that she had no tears left in she felt drained. Cassius’ fuming and Tracey’s gentle concern did nothing to help her.

“You should sleep,” Tracey said, softly.

“M’not tired,” she lied.

“Violet . . .”

“I’m _ fine _ , Tracey,” Violet said, lifting her head to look at the other girl. She put on a smile that hopefully passed as genuine. “Just worried, that’s all. You can go ahead, I’ll be along.”

Tracey didn’t look convinced, but nor did she push the matter.

“If you need me —”

“I’ll come and get you. Promise.”

Tracey got to her feet and gave Violet a comforting pat on the arm. Cassius had gone to bed over an hour ago and now it was her turn as well, to get some rest and dream of things other than impending examinations and magical trials. Violet watched her go, making sure she’d really gone and closed the dormitory door behind her — and then she jumped up and slipped her Ghost Ring onto her finger.

The tingling sensation of passing through wood and stone barely bothered her anymore as she raced up the stairs and out of the dungeon. It was late — the entrance hall was completely empty and the torches that lined the walls were burning low, giving the place a dim, unwelcoming atmosphere. She ascended the grand staircase two steps at a time. Her footfalls made no echo on the smooth, carved stone.

Violet had only a vague idea of where she was going — the third floor corridor, which Dumbledore had expressly forbidden anyone to enter on pain of death. Unlike Harry, she had never worked up the nerve or the compulsion to go exploring such a place, but at the very least she knew what to expect on the other side of it. A three-headed dog, if Harry was to be believed. 

There was no plan that she was following. Sitting and thinking hadn’t gotten her any farther than “stop Harry from getting himself killed,” only she had no idea how to actually  _ do _ that.

The living portraits on the wall gasped and whispered as she passed by them in her ghostly form — Violet didn’t worry what they might see or think of her. There were plenty of ghosts at Hogwarts, surely one more wouldn’t stand out too much. The only thing that she was afraid of now was running into Filch or Mrs. Norris — or Peeves. Would Peeves know that she wasn’t really a ghost? Would he get her into trouble for being out of bed even though he was a creature of mischief himself?

Violet had made it to the second floor without issue, despite the staircases best efforts to shift around and confuse her. Only now they’d moved in such a way that she couldn’t find another path leading  _ up. _ All the usual stairs had pulled away as though trying to stop her from climbing them. She tried to coax them back, or to wait out of sight and trick them, but not a single step would budge in her direction. She would have no choice but to find another way around.

These halls were unfamiliar to Violet. She passed through stone walls and wooden doors, poking her head through to find empty classrooms, dark offices, and dusty storage cupboards, but no stairs. She’d been running between rooms for nearly ten minutes, on the verge of tears and giving up, when she ended up in what looked like a small auditorium of sorts. The floor was empty and open, a dark, polished wood that reflected her own shimmering reflection back at her. Rows of raised benches were set up against the walls, and a little balcony overlooked the floor from the back of the room. On the far wall Violet saw an open doorway, through which she could see a narrow set of stairs. She raced toward them, her reflection a dash of quicksilver on the dark floor, and climbed quickly up to the balcony. From there she pushed herself through a layer of thick stone and popped out the other side into a room that she recognized at once — Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

It appeared very large for some reason, as though all the desks had gotten taller since the last time Violet was there. Then she looked down and realized with a gasp that she was still halfway submerged into the floor. The balcony must not have been high enough to carry her fully onto the third floor — she was stuck  _ in between. _

It was a very strange sensation, trying to pull herself up out of solid stone. Almost like trying to heave herself out of a swimming pool using only her arms, only instead of water the pool was filled with thick sludge that clung to her legs and feet when she tried to lift them. After several minutes of struggling Violet finally worked herself free and flopped onto the floor, breathing hard from the effort. She worked the silver ring from her finger and felt her body solidify at once. For a time she just lay there, catching her breath and waiting for the fuzziness to fade from her limbs.

Violet had only just started to push herself upright when her ears caught the sound of footsteps nearby. She froze.

There weren’t in the classroom with her, thank goodness — but from under the closed door a faint beam of light had appeared, growing brighter as the footsteps grew louder. Violet jammed the ring back on and surged to her feet, ready to hide in the wall if the door started to open. But the footsteps did not slow as they approached the door to the Transfiguration classroom. They passed by, taking the light with them, and began to fade. Cautiously, and out of curiosity, Violet poked her head through the door and looked to see who had passed by.

Moving quickly down the hall, lamp in hand and black cloak billowing behind him, was Professor Snape — and he was heading toward the forbidden corridor.

Ice seized Violet’s heart once more. He  _ was _ after the Stone! And if he got there first, or if Harry was already laying in wait to stop him —

Stepping through the wooden door of the classroom and out into the hall, Violet hurried to catch up with Snape’s rapidly disappearing footsteps. He rounded a corner, still heading for the entrance to the corridor. The door was in sight now — and, to Violet’s horror, it was ajar. Harry must be inside already, he would be in there trying to protect the Stone himself. Snape drew up short at the sight of the open door as well, his pace slowing. He reached toward it. Violet, not knowing what else to do, yanked the ring from her finger once more and drew her wand.

“ _ Stop!” _ she shouted.

Snape whirled around at once, his black eyes landing on her in the middle of the corridor, wand drawn and pointed straight at him. His mouth fell open.

“Ms. Potter,” he hissed, taking a step toward her, “have you  _ completely _ lost your mind?”

“Get away from there,” she ordered, her voice shaking as much as her hands were. “I won’t let you take it. I  _ won’t _ !”

Snape was still coming toward her, eyes narrowed, his face a mask of outrage.

“Now you listen to me, girl,” he snarled, “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, raising a wand at a teacher —”

Lightning fast Snape produced his own wand and, with the barest flick of his wrist, sent Violet’s flying out of her hand and scattering across the floor. She lunged for it, but again Snape was far faster. He grabbed hold of her arm in a vice-like grip.

“This is grounds for expulsion, Potter — out of bed after repeated warnings, wandering at night, I ought to have —  _ oof _ !”

Snape let out a pained grunt as Violet rammed her foot into his knee, but he did not let go of her. She was panicking. The school was dark and there was no around to help her, no one around to call out to and stop Snape.

“I won’t let you!” she cried, flailing against his grip with all her might. “You can’t hurt him! I won’t let you kill Harry!”

Snape made a noise suddenly, somewhere between a laugh and a cry of alarm. He grabbed hold of her other arm and pulled her around to face him.

“What the  _ hell _ is the matter with you?” he demanded, shaking her. Violet was sobbing now — she couldn’t see through her tears, through the fear of her own failure.

“You can’t take it,” she moaned, her voice cracking. “You can’t give him the Stone — he’ll kill us — please, you  _ can’t _ —”

Snape froze. Violet felt his grip on her arms give slightly and tried to wriggle away, only for him to clamp down harder on her shoulders. He sank down until he was level in front of her, his pale face looming in front of her own.

“Potter — what Stone are you talking about?” Violet tried, again, to turn away and break his grasp, but Snape held her fast. His tone was very different now. “Tell me,  _ now _ .”

“The Ph-Philosopher’s Stone,” Violet choked out. “You want to give it to V-Voldemort, and he’s going to come back and kill me — me and Harry — but you  _ can’t _ , I won’t  _ let _ you —”

“Where is your brother?” Snape said suddenly. He shook her again. “Potter, where is he?”

“He said he was going to stop you,” Violet wailed. “I knew he couldn’t but he went anyways — he went through the trapdoor —”

Snape’s grip on her shoulders tightened to the point of painful. Suddenly he let go of her and was on his feet. Violet tried once more to scramble for her wand, only for Snape’s hand to close on her wrist this time and begin dragging her down the corridor.

No matter how hard she resisted Violet couldn’t break herself out of Snape’s grasp as he pulled her through hallways and up staircases. Her legs couldn barely keep up with the pace he was setting — Violet didn’t recognize this part of the school, but they were getting higher and higher, clearly heading toward one of Hogwarts many towers. Snape half-dragged her up a long spiral staircase. He didn’t say another word until they stopped outside of a large, ornate statue of some sort of winged creature.

“Jelly Buttons,” Snape said, and Violet thought for a moment she had lost her mind — but then the statue began to move, spinning and rising higher and higher with a spiraling staircase leading up and up. Professor Snape pulled Violet onto the stairs and took the steps two and time until they reached the top. They stopped in front of a grand wooden door with gleaming gold handles; Violet barely had any time to be in awe of the sight of it.. At once Snape pushed the doors open and pulled Violet along inside.

They were in a grand office the likes of which Violet had never seen. Strange silver gadgets sat on spindly tables — the walls were built of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, packed with books — several enormous paintings hung on the back wall, each of them featuring a very old witch or wizard — but most impressive of all was a great wooden desk, with a great wooden chair to match, and sitting in it was Professor McGonagall, dressed in a tartan night robe. She looked up with a start as the door burst open.

“Severus!” she cried, rising to her feet once she saw the struggling Violet in his grasp. “What — what is the meaning of this?”

“Send for Albus,” said Snape. “The Stone is not safe. Mr. Potter has made his way through the trapdoor and I don’t believe he was alone. An owl, Minerva, quickly!”

Professor McGonagall’s mouth opened and shut several times like a fish before she pulled herself together and scrambled into action, grabbing a quill and parchment off the desk and scrawling a hurried letter. The bird that came fluttering down at her call was  _ not _ an owl — it was the least like-an-owl bird that Violet had ever seen in her life, with bright red plumage and a long, sweeping tail. McGonagall gave it the rolled up letter and flung a window open with a wave of her wand, sending the bird fluttering out into the night air. Only then did Professor Snape let go of Violet’s wrist. She stood there dumbly, not understanding what was going on.

“Miss Potter,” said Professor McGonagall’s voice, and a moment later the woman herself was kneeling down in front of her. “Dear, I need you to tell me everything you know about this.”

Over the next twenty minutes, and with both teachers standing over her and listening intently, Violet managed to explain everything that she had seen. Snape and Quirrell muttering during the Quidditch match, trying to throw Harry off of his broom; Snape’s limp, and Harry’s encounter with Fluffy the three-headed dog; spying on Snape and Quirrell in the forest; not knowing who to trust; the dead unicorn, and the creature that come to drink its blood and tried to attack them; Harry’s suspicions, and his plot, and the fear that no one would listen or believe him. Violet talked until her throat was raw and sore, the tears drying on her cheeks as she ran out of them to cry. Snape’s face grew grimmer and grimmer, and Professor McGonagall kept throwing dark looks in his direction, but the pair of them listened in silence until Violet had told them all of her tale.

And when it was all over, Professor McGonagall produced for her a glass of water and a blanket, and gently suggested that she ought to sit down.

“You’ve behaved very bravely, Miss Potter,” she said kindly. “ _ Foolishly _ , but brave nonetheless. Thank you for this information. This is well out of your hands now, dear.”

Violet simply nodded. She was very tired and very scared, felt as though her legs might go out from under her at any moment. When a chair was brought and she finally sank down into it, it was only a few moments before her eyes fluttered shut and she was drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep . . .

 

“. . . unbelievable.”

“. . . can’t really blame her, Severus. . .”

“ Thank you for that, Headmaster. . .”

When Violet came to consciousness, she was still in the headmaster’s office, though no longer slumped in the chair that she had fallen asleep in. Someone must have moved her to the soft, plush sofa she was laying on now, though she couldn’t remember seeing such a thing in the office before. There were voices speaking softly around her, though they went quiet as her eyes fluttered open.

Snape was standing there looking down at her, and beside him stood Professor Albus Dumbledore, wearing a very kind smile on his face as he met her gaze.

“Good morning, Miss Potter,” he said. “My apologies, we did not mean to wake you. How are you feeling?”

Violet sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. The office was no longer dark — sunlight streamed in through the open window, glinting off of all the strange metallic instruments that were scattered about.

“Where’s Harry?” she asked. She was suddenly wide awake. “Is he all right? Where —”

“Hush, child,” said Dumbledore, raising a hand to soothe her. “Your brother is safe under the care of Madam Pomfrey, in the infirmary.”

“Is he hurt?” Violet asked, her voice rising as panic seized her once more. Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes gleamed sadly at her.

“I will not lie to you, my dear — he is gravely injured, though stable for now. It is a fortunate thing that your letter reached me when they did. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived in time to find and protect Harry, and bring him to safety.”

Dumbledore’s tone was mild, though his ancient face was troubled and creased with worry. Violet swung her legs off of the couch and stood up.

“I want to see him,” she said firmly. “I want to be with Harry.”

“I thought that might be the case,” said Dumbledore. He let out a small, resigned sigh. “I believe I know better than to try and keep the two of you apart — you would only find a way to get to him, and then the trouble would be in Madam Pomfrey’s lap, for which she would never forgive me. Shall we?”

Professor Dumbledore once again extended a thin, wrinkly hand toward her. Violet took it, but had only followed him a few steps toward the door before stopping and turning back. She looked at Professor Snape and swallowed.

“I’m sorry I thought it was you, sir,” she said. Snape looked shocked. After a moment, he spoke.

“As am I.”

His voice sounded oddly strained. Violet blinked and quickly turned away, allowing Professor Dumbledore to lead her down to the infirmary and leaving Snape alone in the office behind them.

 

Harry was not conscious when they arrived. When she first laid eyes on him Violet wasn’t even sure he was alive, so still he was and so shallow his breathing. His eyes didn’t flutter open when she came to stand beside him, and he didn’t stir at all when she took his hand and tried to call his name. It was fortunate had already run out of tears the night before, or she would have started crying again.

“Is he ever going to wake up?” she asked Professor Dumbledore, who stood by the end of the bed and merely watched the two of them. He nodded slowly.

“I believe he will, in time. Your brother was gravely wounded in the struggle. When I found him . . . I feared I might be too late.”

Violet looked back at Harry. His face was ashen and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. The scar on his forehead stood out livid, red and angry against his skin. He was feverish to the touch.

“Can I stay with him? Here, until he wakes up?”

Professor Dumbledore was silent for a time.

“I believe that can be arranged, dear.”

 

For three days Violet sat by Harry’s bedside and waited for him to come back to her. She talked to him — asked how he was feeling and what he was dreaming about, and told him not to worry about the taste of the horrible liquidy gruel Madam Pomfrey would come and spoon-feed him twice a day. She held his hand during the day and fell asleep with her head next to him at night.

Ron and Hermione came to visit on the first day, looking nearly as battered as Harry themselves. They told her the story of getting past the dog and the terrible plant called Devil’s Snare; the sleeping troll they found, and the living chessboard, and the row of potions and poisons Harry and Hermione had gone on to find. But they’d become separated after that, and no one but Harry knew what had happened to him beyond that.

On the second day, Fred and George Weasley arrived, along with half of Gryffindor House, bringing arm loads of wizarding treats and candies for Harry when he woke up. The Weasley twins went through great trouble to get Violet to smile, and she even managed a laugh or two for the first time in over a week. 

That evening Tracey and Cassius were allowed to visit her, and both of them had very stern words for Violet after sneaking off without them. But while Violet feared they were angry with her, both of them were quick to reassure that all they felt was worry after finding her missing.

On the third day, after another long night spent by Harry’s side, Violet was once again awakened by the sound of voices. One of them was Professor Dumbledore, and the other was . . .

“Harry!” Violet exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. She stared at her brother. Harry was sitting up as well, eyes open, staring right back at her.

“Hullo,” he said, as if they’d just rounded a corner and bumped into one another. Violet could have strangled him.

“You,” she said, poking a finger into the middle of his chest, “are not allowed of my sight ever again.  _ Ever. _ ”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, but a smile was creeping across his bruised face nonetheless. Violet lunged forward and wrapped her arm tightly around him.

“Ow,” he said, “sorry, ow, that — that actually really hurts, Vi —”

“Good,” she told him, but let go nonetheless. “You scared me, y’know.”

“I know . . . but I was scared, too . . .”

The twins looked at each other for a long time, then, simply glad to be back in one another’s company, awake and alive. It was Professor Dumbledore’s soft chuckling that brought them back to their surroundings.

“Truly it is wonderful,” he said, “to see brothers and sisters getting along with one another, even in the hardest of times.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Violet, “I didn’t mean to interrupt —”

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively.

“Nonsense, my dear, I fear I am the one interrupting here. Harry and I were merely discussing the fate of the Philosopher’s Stone as quietly as we could, though evidently not quietly enough.”

“What happened to it?” Violet said. “Did Vol-, sorry, You-Know-Who —”

“Call him Voldemort, children. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“Okay, sir — did Voldemort get the Stone or not?”

“He did not,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “The Stone has been destroyed, and will be at no risk for falling into the wrong hands ever again.

“But Voldemort’s going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he?” said Harry. “I mean, he hasn’t gone, has he?”

“No, Harry he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share . . . not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies.”

“Share a body?” asked Violet, looking between them. Harry grimaced.

“Quirrell’s turban — it was covering Voldemort’s face. It was like it’d grown out of the back of his head, and it could speak and everything. It was horrible, Violet.”

Violet shuddered at the description.

“But you stopped him didn’t you? If he didn’t get the Stone —”

“Alas,” said Dumbledore, “while Harry may have only delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time — and if he is delayed again, and again, why he may never return to power.”

The twins looked at each other as they mulled this over. So long as there were people to fight against him, they ought to be safe from Voldemort. At least, for a time. Harry looked up at Dumbledore.

“Sir, there are some other things I’d like to know, if you can tell me . . . things I want to know the truth about . . .”

“The truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible, and should therefore be treated with great cautious. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you’ll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.”

“Well . . . Voldemort said that he only killed our mother because she tried to stop him from killing  _ us _ . But why would he want to kill us in the first place?”

“To kill  _ us _ ?” Violet said, shocked. “You and me? But we were babies!”

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

“Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know one day . . . put it from your minds for now, children. When you are older . . . I know you hate to hear this . . . when you are ready, you will know.”

Violet surely did hate to hear it, but one look at Dumbledore’s face told her it would be no good to argue. Again, Harry asked a question.

“But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?”

“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign . . . to have been loved so deeply, enough though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry and Violet time to dry their eyes on the sheet. It was painful to hear such things, but all the more painful to know that such love and kindness could never be paid back or returned.

“And there’s something else,” Harry said, his voice slightly thick. Dumbledore nodded obligingly.

“Fire away.”

“Quirrell said Snape —”

“ _ Professor _ Snape, Harry.”

“Yes, him — Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?”

“What?” said Violet, again shocked. “How did he know our father?”

“They attended school together,” Dumbledore said mildly. “The same year, although different Houses. And yes, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourselves and Mr. Malfoy, I might add. And then, your father did something Severus could never forgive.”

“What?”

“He saved his life?”

“ _ What _ ?” the twins said together.

“Yes . . .” said Dumbledore dreamily. “Funny, the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace . . .”

“I told you!” Violet said, rounding on her brother. “I  _ knew _ he wasn’t evil! He was helping you all along!”

Harry at least had the sense to look abashed, though Dumbledore merely chuckled.

“I did warn him,” he said, “that his methods could perhaps be misunderstood to those who lacked context. I fear Severus is not always the subtlest of characters.”

Violet glared at her brother in triumph. Harry ignored her.

“And sir, there’s just one more thing . . .”

“Just the one?”

“How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?”

“Ah, now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something. You see, only one who wanted to  _ find _ the Stone — find it, but not use it — would be able to get it, otherwise they’d just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes . . . Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them — but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?”

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, “Alas! Ear wax!”

 

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict. After the third day she would not longer allow Violet to remain in the infirmary all day and night, citing that Harry needed his rest, and no matter how much the two of them pleaded she would not change her mind.

And so Violet found herself spending the last remaining days of school in the Slytherin girls dormitory, avoiding the many questions that everyone seemed to have for her. Harry wasn’t allowed out, even for meals, and aside from Tracey and Cassius there was no one at all she wanted to speak to. The two of them had their own questions, of course — but at least they didn’t crowd around her, demanding to know whether or not her brother was dead or if she was going to be thrown back to the Muggles now that the year was over.

It wasn’t until the end of the year feast that Harry was finally released from the infirmary — Violet met him outside the hospital doors, and together they made their way down to the Great Hall together, arm in arm. The hall was already decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin’s winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When the twins walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. Violet saw Harry to his seat at the Gryffindor table and then quickly scurried to her own table and slipped in between Tracey and Cassius. She tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at Harry.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moment’s later. The babble died away.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were . . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts . . .

“Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-five; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out at the Slytherin table. Violet raised her arms and hollered with all the rest.

“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin, “ said Dumbledore. “However, recent events must be taken into account.”

The room went very still. The Slytherins’ smiles faded a little.

“Ahem,” said Dumbledore. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes . . .

“First — to Mr. Ronald Weasley . . . for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver.

“Second — to Miss Hermione Granger . . . for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.

“Third — to Mr. Harry Potter . . .” said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. “. . . for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points.”

The din was deafening. Those who could add while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points — exactly the same as Slytherin. Violet’s Housemates were looking around at once another know, muttering and grumbling amongst themselves.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

“There are all kinds of course, “ said Dumbledore, smiling. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might have well thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Violet stared in shock at Harry, Ron and Hermione standing up to yell, waving their arms and cheering as Neville was buried under a pile of people hugging him. Even most of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were cheering, celebrating Slytherin’s apparent fall from grace.

“However,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, and the room once again trickled into a tense silence. “There is a particular kind of bravery that comes not from defending oneself, but from standing against those whom we believe would bring harm to the ones we hold most dear. We must not overlook such selflessness. Finally, I must award, to Miss Violet Potter —”

Violet perked up. Cassius grabbed hold of her shoulders from behind, waiting.

“— ten points!”

This time, there was no thunderous applause. People were clapping, meekly at best, for this unsatisfying conclusion — tied again, Slytherin and Gryffindor with four hundred and eighty-two points each. From the podium, Dumbledore clapped his hands. At once half the hall changed its colors — the green hangings on the left side of the room became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent shrank to make room for the secondary banner that appeared beside it — a towering Gryffindor lion. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall’s hand, both of them wearing horrible, forced smiles. Professor Dumbledore stepped down and took his seat and the High Table, and the feast commenced.

 

Violet had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To her delight, she had some of the best marks out of all the first years — Potions, Flying, and Charms set her high above the rest, but Hermione Granger had taken the lead in Transfiguration, Herbology, and History of Magic. Tracey passed with good marks as well, and Harry and Ron’s cheers could be heard across the hall.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Crookshanks was stuffed unwillingly back into his carrier for the journey home; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (“I always hope they’ll forget to give us these,” said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the late; they were boarding the Hogwarts express, laughing and talking as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle town; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King’s Cross station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn’t attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

“You must come and stay this summer,” said Tracey, hugging Violet so hard she struggled to breathe. “Harry’s going to Ron’s isn’t he? Well then, you can come and stay with me! We’re only in Bristol, that’s not far.” 

“I’d love to,” said Violet, “I’ll need something to look forward to.”

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the muggle world. Some of them called.

“Bye, Harry!”

“See you, Violet!”

“Still famous,” Ron said, grinning at them.

“Not where we’re going, I promise you,” said Violet.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went through the gateway first, with Violet, Tracey, and Cassius following just behind.

“There he is, Mum, there he is, look!”

It was Ron’s younger sister, but she wasn’t pointing at Ron.

“Harry Potter!” she squealed. “Look, Mum, I can see —”

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

“Busy year,” she said.

“Very,” said Harry.

“Thank you for the sweaters!” Violet said earnestly — she was wearing hers at the moment despite the heat, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and Mrs. Weasley beamed.

“Ready, are you?”

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking furious at the nerve of the twins, carrying owls and cats in cages in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of them.

“You must be the twins’ family!” said Mrs. Weasley.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Uncle Vernon. “Hurry up, you two, we haven’t got all day.”

Violet again found herself pulled into a hug from Tracey — a man was standing behind her now, with the same dark skin and bright brown eyes as her.

“You’ve got to write,” Tracey said into her shoulder, “and come to visit.”

“Write me as well, yeah?” said Cassius, lingering for a hug as well. It was rather awkward, as he was much taller than Violet. “And have a good holiday.”

“I will,” she promised. A grin was starting to spread over her face. “ _ They _ don’t know we’re not allowed to use magic at home. We’re going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented and left kudos on this fic, it really means the world to me!! 
> 
> I do have the entire second book finished as well, so you won't have to wait too long for updates, but I'll probably be spacing them out a bit more to give me time to finish book 3.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time. I hope you will continue to read, and maybe come to love Violet as much as I do.


End file.
